..OLLEGE 
TOWNS 

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RAMBLES IN OLD COLLEGE TOWNS 




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J'he Path Sxveeps up to the Square Central 
Tower 




RAMBLES IN OLD 
COLLEGE TOWNS 



By 
Hildegarde Hawthorne 

Author of " The Lure of the Garden," " Old 

Seaport Towns of New England," etc. 

with drawings by 

John Albert Seaford 



New York 

Dodd, Mead & Company 



1917 



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Copyright, 1917, bt 
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, INC. 



OCT 30 1917 



IGIA4768J3 
-U.0 ( ^ 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER 



PAGB 



I Jefferson's College in Charlottesville 1 

II William and Mary S4s 

III Annapolis 68 

IV Princeton 93 

V Yale and New Haven .... 125 

VI Providence and Brown University . 155 

VII Harvard and Cambridge . . . .183 

VIII Wellesley College in W^ellesley . 205 

IX BowDoiN AND Old Brunswick . , . 223 

X Dartmouth and Hanover .... 240 

XI Amherst 359 

XII Smith and Northampton .... 276 

XIII Williams of the Mountains . . , 293 

XIV Vassar 310 

XV West Point 328 

XVI Cornell . 347 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

The Path Sweeps Up to the Square Central Tower 

Frontispiece 



FACING 
PAGE 



The Arcades of West Lawn and the Rotunda . . 16 
The Main Building Has an Effect of Serene Dignity 

and Welcome 44 

The Centre of All Is the State House ... 80 
Fine Old Connecticut Hall Strikes a Note of Peculiar 

Charm 132 

In the Same Row with University Hall Is Manning, 

with Its Doric Columns 166 

The Lofty Fence and Various Superb Gates . . 190 

A Charming Path and Steps Lead Down from Stone 

Hall 212 

The Severely Architectural Gateway of the Class of 
1878 230 

The Beautiful Old Row 246 

Johnson Chapel, with Its Doric Pillars and Delight- 
ful Square Tower 268 

The Old Homestead of Judge Dewey, with Its Col- 
umns and Doric Simplicity 282 

Thompson Chapel, Whose Stone Tower Points Its 

Exquisite White Finials Above the Arching Elms 300 

The Library, Perhaps the Most Beautiful of Vassar's 

Buildings 318 

The Chapel, West Point 336 

The Great Library, with Its Uprising Tower . . 352 



RAMBLES IN OLD COLLEGE TOWNS 



RAMBLES IN OLD COLLEGE 
TOWNS 

CHAPTER I 

Jefferson's College in Charlottesville 

It was late in April when we decided to begin 
our little tour of the old college towns here in 
the East by starting for Virginia. We'd neither 
of us ever been farther into the Old Dominion 
than Mount Vernon, which is not so much part 
of a State as part of history, so the distance 
beckoned with all the allurement of the new. 
Then there was the hope of warmth and sun, 
powerful magnets in this cold, grey, unwilling 
war spring, as reluctant to mobihse as the most 
pernicious pacifist in a House and Senate just 
then struggling with the Conscription Bill. 

" Shall we take the sea trip and begin with 
Wilhamsburg, or go by train and see the 
University of Virginia first? " I asked Sister, 
as we studied time-tables and looked at maps 
and wished the janitor would respond with 
greater heartiness to the telephoned demands for 
more heat. Outside the rain drizzled on the 



JEFFERSON'S COLLEGi; 

pavements and two trees, visible from the western 
windows, withheld without a struggle the least 
impulse toward budding. 

*' Nothing that's wet appeals to me," Sister 
responded. " I don't really think that spring 
has got any farther along to the South, but if it 
has I want to see where it begins. My vote is 
for the train." 

Surely one of our modern miracles is the abihty 
we have to change the space of a season from 
weeks to hours. Surprise is the most volatile 
and fleeting of possessions — the most amazing 
experiences lose their wonder in the very act of 
happening. The huge subversion of life that is 
in progress along the fighting line in Europe 
becomes the commonplace of daily living in a 
few weeks, with no more element of surprise 
than inheres to the customary existence of a 
broker on Wall Street. What happens happens, 
and your adjustments are made so instinctively 
as to be practically imperceptible. 

We were off. We had marched down the long 
corridor of the Pennsylvania Station, preceded 
by a red cap grimly enduring our two suit cases, 
two umbrellas and one small grip, for he had 
permitted us to retain none of these things. We 
had stepped down the flight of stone steps at 
the farther end into the mighty concourse with 
its pale and effective decorations by Jules Guerin, 



JEFFERSON'S COLLEGE 

those vasty maps that do really hint of the mag- 
nificent spaces of our Continent, and we had 
plunged on downward to the level where our 
train waited, and found our chairs. 

" Yassam," said the porter, unbending as he 
found that though women we were not immune 
to the great American habit. " Yassam, 7 and 
9, here they is." He stowed away our baggage, 
interrupted for a moment by two men in khaki 
who sought further seats. His eyes brightened, 
and he smiled upon us: 

" I done decided to enlist myself," he told us, 
and so departed, for all we knew, on the first 
lap of his long journey to the French trenches. 

In the stealthy way of trains running out of 
the Pennsylvania we found ourselves gathering 
speed and presently our eardrums were repelling 
the pressure of the tunnel with a determination 
to do or bust familiar to commuting Jerseyites 
who go right on reading their papers as though 
a rampant eardrum were something beneath notice, 
even their innocent children ignoring the contest 
completely. But we sat with our fingers pressed 
to our ears as though suddenly shocked by lan- 
guage quite too dreadful for endurance, and 
breathed deep when the train emerged into the 
sunlight feebly struggling through the clouds that 
hung over New Jersey. 

Manhattan lay behind us — the thrill of a coming 
-hS-i- 



JEFFERSON'S COLLEGE 

vacation, the knowledge that for the next month 
we should be prospecting among colleges, from 
Virginia to Maine, swept over us, and we smiled. 
Only the New Yorker, completely in the control 
of the huge city as he is, really knows what 
Getting Away means. 

I maintain that part of every place is the 
getting to it. And when it comes to Virginia, 
which has given to the country so many great 
presidents and statesmen, then Washington is 
surely a part of Virginia. And since Thomas 
Jefferson was the creator of the University of 
Virginia, or at least its chief parent, in going to 
Charlottesville you must stop off at Washington 
or you will not get the whole of the college town. 
A ramble is as indefinite as a dream, being largely 
a thing of the spirit, a condition of mind as well 
as the putting of one foot before another. 

But long before we arrived in Washington we 
had found our surprises. The first was a row of 
plum trees in full flower. Spring, by Jove! 

That was half-down through New Jersey. The 
skies were blue before that, the grass ran green 
beside us; now we passed a cherry in flower! 
And we pulled out of Philadelphia to the accom- 
paniment of a perfect chorus of green and pink 
and lavender, displayed by forest trees beyond the 
city. 

*' This is really the thing! " exclaimed Sister. 
-J- 4 -«- 



JEFFERSON'S COLLEGE 

" To walk right up on spring, as it were, from a 
chill, raw morning without a leaf to this balmy 
flowering at noon. Look, there's an apple tree 
in full bloom! " 

We entered Washington to find it at the very- 
height of its loveliest season. Opposite the Pow- 
hatan, where we put up, a little park displayed 
everything used in spring furnishings from apple 
and cherry to lilac and spirea, nursemaids and rosy 
babies. 

We wanted to hear some of the debating going 
on in Congress. Boys from the very colleges we 
were to visit would debate there in their turn 
some day, and the fate of many of them now in 
those colleges was being settled in the House and 
the Senate. Were we to tackle a great offensive 
war, and pour millions of our own men into the 
bleeding ranks of the allies, or were we going 
to spend money only, at a pleasing interest 
rate? 

When you try to reahse what it would be like 
to get along without words, you find that the 
things are important — even essential. But after 
you have sat for a few hours listening to the 
quantities of these very words crowding the dull 
air in the halls of Congress it seems difficult to be- 
lieve them of the least use. We went to listen, 
thrilling with the idea that here we should watch 
and harken to history in the making. I suppose 



JEFFERSON'S COLLEGE 

we did. But the actual impression was decidedly 
below this mark. 

" Perhaps nothing seems important when some 
one else is talking about it," said Sister, as we 
waited for one impassioned orator to give place 
to another, hoping that then something really 
worth while would be said. That is the spell of 
the place — you wait and wait, discounting the 
boredom of the moment for the hope of what 
may come next instant. It is the instinct for 
gambling dormant in even the most cautious. 

We left Washington next day without having 
heard the great speech, or even the decisive word. 
Yet all about us, in these lovely buildings standing 
amid the bright glory of fresh leaf and flower, 
the huge machinery of a nation rousing itself to 
action was in progress. Men in khaki, men in 
blue, secret service men lost in business suits, 
moved through the streets. On the green behind 
the White House, in the late afternoon, young 
men were drilling, and a bugle spoke to them 
at intervals with a mihtary summons in its ring- 
ing throat. Guards waited inside the White 
House grounds, and women suffrage pickets, with 
banners, outside the gates. 

Near us, while we watched the boys drilhng, 
two old men sat on a bench. 

" I was here in this town when they fired on 
Fort Sumter," one of them said, " and I was here 

-f- 6-*- 



JEFFERSON'S COLLEGE 

when the Spanish War came along. Guess this 
one will have something to show for itself before 
we get through." 

" Beats all how these wars keep coming along," 
murmured the other man, who was even older 
and whiter. " Nice looking young fellers . . • 
but no better than what the other wars took." 

Possibly there, and not in Congress, we heard 
what we had waited for. 

It is usually something that you have not anti- 
cipated that strikes you when you go to a new 
place. I remember that my first impression of 
Bermuda was a delightful and pungent fragrance 
of growing onions. So the first thing that struck 
us in Virginia was the lettering on two doors 
at a way station waitingroom. The division 
was no longer that of the sexes; instead of 
MEN and WOMEN we read WHITE and 
COLOURED. 

" Well, sure enough, we're in the South," I 
remarked. 

The three hours' run between Washington and 
Charlottesville takes you through lovely, diversi- 
fied country. Broad fields green with winter 
wheat or a deep crimson where they had been 
freshly plowed, and fringed with woodlands in 
new leafage, rolled away on either hand. Through 
the woods the dogwoods made a white splendour, 
and a tree we had only seen in carefully tended 



I 



JEFFERSON'S COLLEGE 

gardens, the brilliant coral tree, with its close-set 
pink blossoms covering every branch, lent itself 
lavishly to the colour scheme, growing solitary or 
in clumps, by fields and deep in the forests, a 
wonder and a joy. 

Charlottesville is in the foothills of the Virginia 
mountains, that rise beyond in blue waves. An 
air as caressing as the soft Southern drawl to 
which we had listened all morning blows over it, 
and somewhere a clear and lazy river winds past 
it. Indeed, we had read that " Charlottesville is 
picturesquely settled on the Rapidan River," and 
we rather expected to see something like one of 
those little towns on the upper Thames in Eng- 
land that string along either bank, buried in 
flowers and grey with age. 

But Charlottesville is not in the least like that. 

We had left to chance the determination of our 
hostelry: used more to western than southern 
travel I expected to find the Commercial Hotel 
as the one dominating factor when it came to 
bed and board. But as we looked out of the 
window of our train, approaching the brick station 
that cuddles under a hill in the lee of the town, 
we saw a small bus with the name NEW 
GLEASON blazoned upon it. 

" That'll do," I decided. " Let's go to the New 
Gleason." 

In five minutes we had done so. A rather 



JEFFERSON'S COLLEGE 

frayed and battered looking house on the Main 
Street, opposite an old and unattractive church. 
I have always hated more than another the word 
pretentious. It is an ugly word and means an 
ugly and distressing thing, but it is considerably 
used in this our country. I felt immediately, 
however, that it would never be used in relation 
to the New Gleason. There was nothing what- 
ever pretentious about the place. It was plain, 
it was unadorned, it bore the records of elder days 
in dusky wallpaper and imitation grained wood. 
The elevator that bore us to our floor moved 
with a glacier's speed, and the rooms themselves 
conformed strictly to the worst mid- Victorian 
ideas of colour and furniture. But the windows 
were big, and the air that blew into them was 
sweet and soft. Hot water ran freely into a big 
bathtub, and the beds were comfortable. The 
place was not pretentious, but one liked it. One 
liked it better as one knew it better. The service 
was effective and friendly and personal. The 
food was simple and good. Every one in the 
place was pleasant. 

Our depression on first coming in vanished. 
We looked out at the unattractiveness of Main 
Street with a fresh interest. The town must 
have more than we could see in that drive from 
the station — and then there was the river, the 
Rapidan. 



JEFFERSON'S COLLEGE 

We left our New Gleason, looked right and 
left, and turned right. Where would it take us? 

In a minute we had crossed the bridge over the 
tracks of the railroad, and the street became 
greener. Old houses backed away from it, with 
gardens as a protection between themselves and 
the passerby; old gardens, running to seed, but 
full of savour and colour. Suddenly we saw great 
stone and iron gates before us, with a group of 
shops — The College Book-Store, a drug store, a 
post office — it was, we heard later, the Corners, 
and the chief rendezvous of a public sort for the 
students. Many of them, and fine boys they 
looked, lounged in the doorways and on the ex- 
tensive flights of steps that recent or fairly recent 
grading made necessary. 

We had reached the first college on our list, 
Thomas Jefferson's University of Virginia, and 
we had done it instinctively. Here were the forty 
acres bought from John Perry for twelve dollars 
an acre, his field having been selected from three 
offered, all within a mile of Charlottesville Court 
House. To be sure, the forty has been broadened 
to over five hundred, and the buildings have multi- 
plied since Jefferson's day. But he it was who 
evolved the idea of a University from the original 
scheme to erect a mere academy, he it was who 
drew the plans, and he who, with the manager 
of his estate of Monticello, an Irish assistant. 



JEFFERSON'S COLLEGE 

Dinsmore, and ten able-bodied workmen, started 
the building of the college. The story of this 
start is worth retailing, as it is told by the man- 
ager. Captain Edmund Bacon, for years Jeffer- 
son's personal friend and major domo. 

" As we passed through Charlottesville," he 
says, " I went to old Davy Isaac's store and got 
a ball of twine, and Dinsmore found some shingles 
and made some pegs and we all went to the old 
field together. Mr. Jefferson looked over the 
ground for some time and then stuck down a 
peg. He stuck the very first peg in that building, 
and I stuck the second. He carried one end 
of the line and I the other in laying off the 
foundation of the University." 

The corner stone was laid in 1817, by the 
Widow's Son Lodge, Madison and Monroe as- 
sisting while Jefferson looked on, his noble white 
head towering over the crowd that had come to 
attend the ceremonies. The college then was 
called Center College, but Jefferson had already 
evolved a plan for its development into a Uni- 
versity, and helped by the hearty co-operation of 
his friend, Joseph Carrington Cabell, the plan was 
adopted by the Legislature in 1818-19, and seven 
independent schools, under the name of the 
University of Virginia, were opened to scholars 
in 1825. Jefferson died the year following, on 
the Fourth of July, almost at the same hour that 

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JEFFERSON'S COLLEGE 

saw the death of Adams, but he had the joy of 
seeing the institution to which he had given such 
fervid support, and even the actual labour of his 
hands, in full running order. 

The place is wonderfully beautiful. It is more 
cohesive in architecture than any other college 
group in America, save only Leland Stanford, 
but it is far lovelier and richer to the eye than 
the western university, richer with years and the 
softer, greener climate, with age-mellowed stone 
and pinkish brick, lovelier because the Greek idea 
from which it springs is more exquisite than any 
other. The hard, bright beauty of Stanford loses 
beside the unconscious grace and charm of Vir- 
ginia. Shaded by giant oaks and elms, with 
magnohas shining in its old gardens, the long 
slopes of its rectangular, oblong campus ( called 
The Lawn) terraced down from the Rotunda at 
one end to the Administration Building on the 
other, and fenced on either side by the long 
pillared arcades that are like cloisters in old 
monasteries in Italy, and follow Tuscan models, 
the first impression is enchanting and complete. 
For though there is more, and though we spent 
hours of delight in wandering here and there, 
looking into box edged flower-beds, sitting 
before statues, leaning on the stone balustrades 
of curving pergolas that gave one far flung views 
of valley and hill, yet that first glance round The 

-»- 12-?- 



JEFFERSON'S COLLEGE 

Lawn, with the sunlight playing wonder-tricks on 
column and wall and ivy hung building, gives the 
essence and the beauty undiluted and radiant. 
We loved it in an instant. 

From the gate where we entered you go past 
the hospital, a fine building dating from 1900 
which is being enlarged, and which is far newer 
than the academic piles, though the good taste 
of the controlling spirits of the University has 
kept every part in complete architectural har- 
mony. By winding paths and up steps and under 
a leaf-hung arch we reached The Lawn, which 
is on the highest part of the old grounds. Young 
men in khaki were hurrying hither and thither; 
it looked as though the whole University were 
preparing for war, and later we were told that 
more than seven hundred of the students had 
enrolled in the military organization. Bronze 
tablets on either side of the entrance into the 
Rotunda (where now the hbrary is housed) bore 
the names of Confederate dead sent out from this 
same spot to fight the Union; were there to be 
new tablets to the names of Virginia's youth 
fallen for the Union? 

" You cannot look at those fine boys and think 
what may be lying ahead of us and not feel posi- 
tively sick," said Sister. "In every college we are 
going to see them, young and eager and joyous, 
thrilHng to this call from their country. Look at 



JEFFERSON'S COLLEGE 

all this, and picture those trenches in France and 
Belgium — all in the same world." 

Above our heads, high in the maple boughs, a 
cardinal was calling, with that swinging, swishing 
note, clear and high, the very note of youth. It 
dropped through the branches like a great drop 
of blood, flashed in the sun, and was gone. 

In 1895 a fire destroyed a portion of the Uni- 
versity. The Rotunda was partly burned, the 
dome going, and to the north of it, where now 
the Plaza extends, the Public Hall, used for lec- 
ture rooms and in the graduating exercises, was 
completely gutted. The fire threatened the 
dormitories of East and West Lawn, as those 
facing on the Lawn are called, but a fortunate 
change of wind helped the fire fighters, and the 
oldest part of the college structure was left 
unharmed. 

A delightful boy did the honours of the place 
for us, showing us in and out of the buildings 
and retailing scraps of history. 

" There's a drop of twenty feet from the lowest 
step of the Rotunda to this square here, the New 
Quadrangle," he said, and softly the southern 
accent fell upon our ears. " This part is the new 
group — the Academic and Rouss and Mechanical. 
This south end used to be open once, so from the 
Rotunda you could look clear out across the 
country." 

-^ 14 -«- 



JEFFERSON'S COLLEGE 

He took us through the arcades of West Lawn 
to the Rotunda, chatting as we went. It was a 
stirring time for the University, with all her sons 
volunteering. 

" I reckon our fathers who graduated here 
wouldn't hardly have thought we'd ever be doing 
that," he remarked, smiling. " And some of the 
older men and women aren't rightly reconstructed 
even yet." 

From the stone terrace of the Rotunda above 
the columns and arches we looked southward down 
The Lawn. Five pavilions on either side separated 
at regular intervals the one story dormitories 
where the students lived; these are the houses of 
the professors, two stories in height, and copied 
after Doric and Ionic models. Jefferson got his 
idea from the drawings of Palladio. These por- 
tions were finished and ready for occupancy by 
1823. The roof of the colonnade, balustraded, 
joins these pavilions, making a long balcony 
shadowed by the maple boughs. 

Close to the Rotunda to right and left are the 
offices of administrators and the Faculty and 
President's rooms. Until 1905 U. of V. was 
managed by the Rector, a Board of Visitors, and 
instead of the President, the Chairman of the 
Faculty, with only slight executive powers. Then 
a change was made, and Edwin Anderson Alder- 
man was given the Presidency. Jefferson's idea 



JEFFERSON'S COLLEGE 

was to make a little Republic of the institution, 
and here the elective system was first tried. This 
is what the Founder says on that score: he was 
writing to George Ticknor, of Boston: 

" I am not fully aware of the practices of Har- 
vard, but there is one thing from which we shall 
certainly vary . . . holding the students all to 
one prescribed course of reading, and disallowing 
exclusive application to those branches only which 
are to qualify them for the particular vocations to 
which they are destined. We shall, on the con- 
trary, allow them uncontrolled choice in the lec- 
tures they shall choose to attend, and require 
elementary qualifications only, and sufficient age. 
Our institution will proceed on the principle of 
doing all the good it can, without consulting its 
own pride and ambition; of letting everyone 
come and listen to whatever he thinks may im- 
prove the condition of his mind." 

There was a statement worthy of the great 
exponent of Democracy. And well have his plans 
been fulfilled, and splendidly have they proved 
themselves. 

The Rotunda, which was so badly injured in 
the fire, was restored by McKim, Mead & White, 
and is one of the handsomest buildings in America, 
modelled after the Panthenon in Rome. On 
Jefferson's last visit to the University, about a 
month before his death, he sat on the balcony of 



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JEFFERSON'S COLLEGE 

the then library, and watched the first marble 
capital being placed on its great column. The 
capitals had been imported from Italy when the 
stone of the neighbourhood was discovered to be 
too friable for the work required. Jefferson 
allowed nothing but fine material and honest 
work in his beloved institution. 

" He sat right over yonder," our student ex- 
plained, " before that fourth pavilion on the 
West Lawn. That was the building whose corner 
stone was laid as Central College, and the first 
of the row. It was the library for several years, 
and some folks call it the Old Library to this 
day — but it's been one of the professor houses 
since 1840, I think; a long time, anyhow. He 
had come to classify some of the books. Just 
as soon as the capital was in place he rode off, 
and that was the last time he got over here." 

Jefferson is still a presence in the University. 
Statues and portraits of him are to be found in 
the main readingroom of the library, in the 
Academic building, on the New Quadrangle, 
where he faces Washington across the width of 
The Lawn. And his name sounds familiarly in 
the talk of student or professor. The child of 
his old age loves him still. The statue in the 
Rotunda was saved from the fire by the struggles 
of the students, who carried it out of danger, 
breaking a small portion of the cloak that hangs 

-j-17-f- 



JEFFERSON'S COLLEGE 

from the shoulders, we were told, though we could 
not find the spot. It was made by Gait and was 
said to be a perfect likeness. The newer statue 
on the Quad is by Karl Bitter. That of Wash- 
ington is the original of the one lately presented 
to England by Virginia. 

It is easy to spend hours lingering about 
these old, beautiful buildings and grounds. The 
Rotunda's central chamber is a magnificent thing, 
the great dome, painted a pale sky-blue, in which 
soar white eagles with golden beaks, being sup- 
ported on a circle of graceful pillars that are 
indescribably dignified. At one side there is a 
bust of Poe, whose room, in the West Range, we 
saw later. The bust is by Zolnay, the same that 
was so ardently praised by the poet Stedman. 

Jefferson had intended the Rotunda for the 
library, and also for use as a chapel, though entire 
religious freedom is one of the tenets of the 
University, and there was never a hint of com- 
pulsory attendance. This gave rise, in narrower 
days, to a report that the college was atheistical. 
If you didn't make people worship according to 
your own idea, you must be wicked to the core, 
was the prevailing notion. As it happens, the 
first Y. M. C. A. in the world was established at 
Virginia, and has always been of immense use- 
fulness there. It is housed now in a fine great 
building conforming to the general scheme of 

-f- 18 4- 



JEFFERSON'S COLLEGE 

architecture, built recently, beyond the West 
Range. There is, in the corner northwest of the 
Rotunda, a Gothic chapel erected by some com- 
mittee or other in 1890, a fair example of its 
style, but utterly out of keeping with the rest 
of the University. Fortunately it is sufficiently 
out of the picture not to be distressing. 

" This terrace must be a wonderful place in 
a moonlight night," Sister said, as we lingered 
there, on coming out of the library again. Our 
guide, with a few hasty directions as to what we 
must see next, had hurried off to get ready for 
his drill. " Think of commencement, with all the 
pretty girls and all these fine young fellows, 
and this place — they must all be engaged before 
the night is over." 

On either wing the terraces overlook walled 
gardens, shadowed by magnolias, sweet with rose 
and jessamine when June blooms, full now of 
paler spring blossoms. Vines float and sway from 
the stone ballustrades, birds sing. Down The 
Lawn the lovely vistas extend, column and arch and 
stately portico, warm with the pinkish and ivory 
tones of rough-cast brick and marble and stone of 
softer grain but as tender a hue. To the west 
and east, parallelling the dormitories known as The 
Lawns, are the second rows of dormitories, called 
the Ranges. They are like The Lawn, except 
that for columns they have brick arches. Between 

-i-19-e- 



JEFFERSON'S COLLEGE 

are the gardens, separated by brick walls. These 
walls, fulfilling some charming fancy, are ser- 
pentine instead of straight, producing an elusively 
playful effect on the serious beauty of the place 
that is like the sunlight dancing on the columns. 

Number 13, in the West Range, is the room 
where Poe lived while a student, and after his 
quarrel with his room mate. Miles George, who 
lived in the West Lawn. Over a small door 
is this inscription: 

Edgar Allan Poe's Room 

MDCCCXXVI 

Domus parva Magni Poetse 

The brick arches are lightly plastered over, 
after the Tuscan fashion, in these Ranges. Each 
little home adjoins its neighbour; each is entered 
through a door opening on the arcade, and each 
looks out upon a garden through a window in 
the rear. Occasional passages passing from the 
Lawns to the Ranges serve to connect the two, 
giving the passerby fascinating glimpses of 
greenery — it was a place where a poet might be 
happy, even such a poet as Poe. But his life 
there, as elsewhere, was stormy and broken by 
his own wild spirit. 

On the east side the East Range duplicates 

the West. They also have their Pavilions, which 

in older times were mess halls and rallying places. 

The Literary Societies for which the University 

■ -i-20-i- 



JEFFERSON'S COLLEGE 

is famous housed in two of the Pavilions, and the 
Jefferson Society still meets in the central 
Pavilion of the West Range. The Washington 
Society now has a small, temple-like building at 
the north end of the East Range, but once it 
met in the Pavilion at the south end of that 
Range. These societies, and the later Columbian, 
have been and are of great influence in the 
college life. At one time they were discouraged 
by the authorities of the University under the 
conviction that they abused their privileges; but 
this opposition has long vanished. 

As the institution has continued to grow other 
dormitories have had to be found. Dawson's Row, 
built in 1859, in the arc of a circle, follows the 
plan of the earlier buildings, but Randall, south 
of East Range, though of the prevailing brick 
and stone construction, is two storied and with 
room for many men. 

There are other dormitories and a mess hall 
on Carr's Hill, north of the Rotunda. We, 
wanting to see the drilling in the amphitheatre, 
the athletic field with its mighty arc of seats and 
effect of a Roman circus, turned our backs on The 
LawTi, and found our way to the back (really 
the front) of the Rotunda. Two vast flights of 
steps lead from it, the first ending at the Plaza, 
where once the Public Hall or Annex, stood, the 
second sweeping down to the street that separates 

-«-21-i- 



JEFFERSON'S COLLEGE 

this older portion of the grounds from the athletic 
field immediately adjoining, where tennis courts 
and tracks are laid out, overlooked by the Fayer- 
weather Gymnasium, a handsome, up-to-date 
structure, with a Corinthian Portico, the columns 
and capitals of soHd stone, conforming in its 
architecture to the general scheme, and containing 
everything proper to its purpose. 

To the left of the Gym, crowning a hill-slope, 
is the beautiful home of the President, close 
crowded by fine trees. 

Our way lay on past the Gym, up a charming 
roadway. Many other people were going the 
same way, and many of these were girls, pretty 
girls too, with Southern voices and alluring ways 
of moving and laughing. Down in the roadway 
marched companies of the college men, not all 
in khaki, since all the uniforms had not arrived — 
the rush of student enthusiasm was too eager for 
the University to keep abreast of it in her 
preparations. 

There is hardly so moving a sight on earth as 
that of the young and joyous running to arms 
in the service of their country. Hundreds upon 
hundreds, here they came, in a long, swinging 
stride, active, straight, vivid. " One, two, three, 
four," the sharp count rang along the lines. In 
through the arched entrances to the Stadium they 
wheeled, line by line. And we followed, to group 

-j-22-e- 



JEFFERSON'S COLLEGE 

ourselves on the low, broad step-seats of the 
Stadium, and watch them march and counter- 
march, turn, stop, rush off at double quick, now 
in long lines across the noble field, now four by 
four. And the hour flew by for us who looked 
as quickly as for the training boys. 

" That's my brother, that one next the end," 
a tall, dark-eyed girl remarked to Sister. " Aren't 
they doing well? " Her eyes shone as the lookers 
on applauded a difficult evolution. " Almost all 
the men are in it — don't they look nice in khaki? 
I reckon those who haven't joined feel pretty bad, 
don't you? But of course some just couldn't." 

"Do you want him to go to war?" asked 
Sister. 

The girl glanced at her. " Why, I don't know," 
she said, slowly. " Seems natural for a Virginian 
to go to war. ..." 

They marched the lads back and disbanded 
them on the Plaza before the Rotunda, company 
by company. Off they ran, down the steps, across 
the road, laughing, shouting 

"D 'you see me get all balled up? ..." 

" Tom'll never learn to keep step. ..." 

"Wish those uniforms would get here . . ." 
their gay voices rang through the evening, their 
feet clattered, they shoved each other about or 
hurried, linking arms. 

" The South seems to be turning out a pretty 
-<-23-f- 



JEFFERSON'S COLLEGE 

good line in sons," I remarked, as we watched 
them scatter. 

Up there in the Rotunda, many years ago, 
Lafayette had been given a dinner, after a parade 
through the streets of Charlottesville remarkable 
for pomp and colour. To-day Joffre was in 
Washington, with Lafayette's name on his hps; 
once again Frenchman and American were to 
fight side by side. 

We walked slowly down The Lawn toward 
Administration. Built as it is, on the slope of 
the hill, you enter on the second story. One 
flight below is the parquet of the auditorium, 
one flight up the gallery. Here the college exer- 
cises are held, and portraits of the founders dec- 
orate the walls, notably one of Jefferson. In 
the lobby is the bronze memorial tablet commem- 
orating the fire and the restoration of the old 
buildings, with the building of the three new 
ones, all by the same architects. The heading to 
the statement is the line "E'en in our ashes live 
our wonted fires." But, as Sister said, that is 
not meant to be taken literally! 

Administration and the two buildings that 
flank it, the Scientific and Mechanics, are joined 
by curving pergolas that give on the charming 
view of the hill and valley, on the great oaks that 
mark Virginia so nobly, and on glimpses of the 
town. The twenty years elapsed since the build- 

-+■24 -J- 



JEFFERSON'S COLLEGE 

ings were finished have mellowed brick and stone 
to the look of age— the century that has gone 
since the first corner stone was laid seems to have 
passed over each fa9ade facing in upon The 
Lawn — the harmony is complete. Only the 
trees are young. It was Jefferson's idea that 
the classic severity should not be softened by a 
tree, and for long The Lawn was unshaded. 
Then locusts were planted, and finally the two 
double rows of maples that now stand there. 
Fine, well-grown trees, full of lusty life and 
beauty. 

The honour system has always been in vogue 
in the University of Virginia. A man's word is 
unquestioned by the Faculty. Very few are the 
cases where this trust has been misplaced. A 
student puts his signature to his examination 
papers stating that the work has been honestly 
done. In the rare instances when there has been 
cheating the Faculty has never taken action. The 
students took up the matter. There is no rough 
handhng; the offender is "simply made aware of 
the existence of a strong public sentiment which 
makes it impossible for a man to stain his honour 
and remain a student of the University of 
Virginia." 

" This seems to me a spot where one would 
be glad to have one's son," said Sister. " Here, 
it seems to me, is the soul of Jefferson incarnate." 

-H-25-f- 



JEFFERSON'S COLLEGE 

The sun was setting as we made our way back 
to the New Gleason, past the Corners, where 
students crowded for the evening mail. Along 
the quiet street mocking-birds sang in the old 
gardens, a tangle of music, silver-sweet. Then 
we crossed the railway bridge and enchantment 
fell away. 

But in the hotel we had a supper that was 
worth eating, with corn pone and ham and greens 
and hominy and coffee that was comfortingly clear 
and strong. The coloured boy who took our 
orders was deeply interested in seeing that we 
got just what we wanted, and begged us to take 
a little more of each dish. He even insisted on 
bringing poached eggs to augment what he con- 
sidered too slight an order. And we ate them. 
We couldn't have hurt his feelings by leaving 
them. 

Afterwards we chatted with the young lady 
at the desk. 

" You ought to see Monticello," she told us. 
" No, you couldn't walk it — I did once, but never 
again. It's only about three miles to the gate, 
but after that it's miles and miles. But it makes 
a nice drive, and the woods are fine now. They've 
been talking of buying it for the Nation, like 
Mount Vernon . . . it's a mighty pretty 
place.'* 

We asked her whether there were any special 



JEFFERSON'S COLLEGE 

haunts in town that attracted the college boys, 
but she appeared to know of none. " The Uni- 
versity holds about everything the students want," 
she thought. " Of course they go to the Corners, 
and visit folk in town, but we don't see much of 
them. I reckon the men who are in Virginia 
University are there to work, not to play 'round," 
she concluded. 

We decided to drive to Jefferson's home the 
following afternoon. And went again to our 
informant for news of where to spend the 
morning. 

" You might go and see the college cemetery 
and the old Confederate burying ground next it, 
and so up to the Observatory. That will make a 
nice walk," she told us. 

A soft, warm morning, with a silvery haze over 
the blue hills and veiling the broad fields that lie 
along the river. Before going to the cemeteries 
we decided to see a little of Charlottesville. 
Though the first impression of the town is not 
attractive, the place is really charming. Small 
and old, surrounded by farm-lands, the farm 
houses built on the crests of the swelling hills, 
and almost invariably surrounded by a group of 
splendid oaks, the streets merge into country roads 
almost imperceptibly. That is, those which don't 
end in an impasse. For many a fine broad street 
we took led only to some house in fine grounds 



JEFFERSON'S COLLEGE 

barring further progress; and we trapesed back 
the way we came, but contentedly, for beautiful 
trees shaded our way and there were unending 
views across the valleys, with their rich crim- 
son soil or new, vivid green. Many a splendid 
Colonial house still stands in the old town, 
with Greek portico and stately pillars. There 
are many houses of brick, almost none of 
wood. 

But we couldn't find the river! 

" Here is a town 'picturesquely situated on the 
Rapidan,' and we can't see hide nor hair of a 
stream," I complained. " Yet it seems idiotic to 
go up to a citizen and ask him for a river." 

But we had to. We walked here and we 
walked there, and not so much as a gleam of 
running water rewarded us. 

He was old and very Southern in appearance, 
and he enjoyed talking. 

" The Rap^?/gdan? Why, it's some ways along, 
ladies." He directed us minutely, and then asked 
us what we thought of the war. 

" We've got to get those Prussians beaten," he 
began. " I fought through the war here and I 
don't care for any more fighting, but it looks like it 
has to be done. You-all visited the University? " 

Thrilling with delight at the you-all we told 
him we had. 

" Our blood and sweat's gone into it," he said 
-»-28-i- 



JEFFERSON'S COLLEGE 

slowly, taking off his broad-brimmed hat and 
mopping his forehead to give point to the state- 
ment. "It's a fine place; but the war set us 
back a whole lot." 

He was explaining to us the policy of the 
Central Powers when we broke away — for time 
was flying, though no one in the South acts as 
if this were a fact. We found that the river 
itself, for all the hasty significance of its name, 
moved with a casual slowness under the bridge 
which we attained at last. Willows bent above 
the stream, fields full of buttercups spread back 
from it, and on surrounding hills picturesque 
pines aided the oaks in the scheme of decoration. 
While we sat at the edge of the water several 
drivers passed us, on their way to town from 
the country districts. Not one but held the lines 
over a horse showing traces of blood and breeding. 
Virginia loves horses, and here, where the great 
lover of a good horse lived so much of his life, 
a fine animal or none at all seems to be the rule. 
Jefferson did a great deal to improve the breed 
in this part of the state, and though he never 
raced a horse, he loved to drive a fast trotter 
or ride a steeple-chaser. 

For our drive to the old home of the statesman 
we secured a charming bay, and took turns with 
the lines. The red-dust roads were firm and 
smooth, the trees continuous, and once past the 

->-29-f- 



JEFFERSON'S COLLEGE 

lodge at the entrance to Monticello, the drive 
swept upward to the top of the sugar loaf hill in 
gracious curves, with constant outlooks over the 
country below. 

" I cannot imagine an easier job on earth than 
learning to love Virginia," declared Sister. " Just 
look at those sheets of dogwood under the pines! 
And hear the cardinals ! And remember that over 
this delightful road Jefferson used to ride every 
day to visit his beloved University. Bad weather, 
unless it was very bad indeed, couldn't stop him. 
The tall, gallant, happy man, who was said to go 
singing and humming about his work, and never 
to be idle, and who watched over every detail of 
his estate with such exquisite care. It is good 
to know such things have happened, and it is 
good to look around here and see the relics of it, 
kept so beautifully. Virginia makes you feel at 
home. ..." 

Jefferson's classic taste found full expression in 
the house he built, with its domed roof and 
columns, placed so well among the trees and 
gardens on the hilltop. A couple of youths on 
horseback, probably students, were idling along, 
chatting and pointing. This was the sort of 
ramble a boy could profit by. The man who had 
built this house, with its fine, reserved beauty, was 
a heritage to every student in the University. 
They had their literary societies and their Greek 

-+■30-!- 



JEFFERSON'S COLLEGE 

letter societies, and they had too this influence left 
behind by a great, simple and generous spii-it. 
It is with emotion that you look about you at 
Monticello. 

" Everything best in American tradition meets 
here," I remarked, as we drove slowly away. 
" And tradition is worth while — it must give a 
noble quality to those it touches as it must touch 
every boy who is educated here." 

Our time was drawing to an end, and we had 
not yet visited the college burial ground. But the 
afternoon was only just waning as we returned, 
our bay still full of playfulness, and sauntered 
off toward the University, and the little walk 
under the oaks that led to the quietest of grave- 
yards. 

White and blue periwinkle carpeted the ground 
under the cedars and the ivy grew thick over the 
ancient stones and simple marble crosses. Here 
was nothing of pomp and ostenation. A few 
old English tombs with carven sides and tops. 
An urn on a column, half hidden in green 
leaves, simple rounded headstones with names 
great in the story of Virginia — a place now 
of singing birds, who were nesting every- 
where. 

Beyond, under oaks, with the wild flowers 
growing over them, was the place where the 
Confederate soldiers rested. A bronze figure in 



JEFFERSON'S COLLEGE 

the centre commemorated these heroes of the lost 
cause, lying at the very foot of Mt. Jefferson. 
Little paths led among the graves. A tender 
loveliness brooded throughout the space. 

Above, at the top of the little mountain, was 
the Observatory, containing the great Clark 
refractor. It is called after its chief donor, 
McCormick of Chicago, and is very complete. 
Vanderbilt also gave a large sum toward its 
building. Jefferson had selected the site, but was 
unable to install more than an apology for an 
observatory at the time. 

It is easy to understand that neither money nor 
social standing cut much of a figure in this great 
and growing University. There is nothing to 
spend money on; the woods and fields, the quiet 
stream, the mild excitements of the Corners are 
all that call to the student, and none of these asks 
money. No honourary degrees have been given 
by the University, which confers its honours only 
for work done. Character is what counts, and 
every boy who enters feels that in the first week 
of his life there. Athletics are eagerly followed, 
and the publications of the students show real 
enthusiasm and marked literary abihty. There is 
nothing slack, nothing wasteful. 

As we walked homeward to the hotel, round by 
way of the tennis courts, we heard some of the 

-J- 32^- 



JEFFERSON'S COLLEGE 



young fellows giving the college yell: a good yell, 
and reaching far : 

WAH-HOO-WAH 

WAH-HOO-WAH 

U-NI-V-VIRGINIA 
HOO-RAH-RAY 

HOO-RAH-RAY 
RAY-RAY 
U-V-A 



33 



CHAPTER II 

William and Mary 

Richmond is only an hour from Williamsburg, 
and I don't believe any one ever had the heart 
to go through Richmond without stopping off if 
there was even the faintest shadow of an excuse. 
Naturally the students from William and Mary 
come to Richmond for contact with the great 
world — for though Williamsburg is one of the 
oldest places in America it is as quiet as it is 
old, and the college boy often demands more of 
life than age and repose j so Sister and I felt 
that it was decidedly necessary to get a look at 
Richmond before continuing down the James 
River to what was, for a brief time, the old capital 
of Virginia. 

Richmond has a Roman proclivity for hills and 
a truly Southern passion for flowers and trees 
and parks. Its up-and-downness and its green- 
ness are as marked as its historic associations with 
Washington, Jefl'erson, Patrick Henry, Jefferson 
Davis and Robert E. Lee. Most of our elder 
cities can lay some claim to one or two of these 
men. But Richmond gathers them all in, and 
many another. Here they lived or here they 

-i- 34 •+- 



WILLIAM AND MARY 

met in mighty converse. There they died or there 
they fought. Old church or beautiful home, public 
building and tomb, stand as witnesses. To the 
Southerner his history is real and beloved. In 
many an old Nevi^ England town you will hardly 
find a soul to speak of the past, to direct you 
to some relic of vanished deeds or to remember 
the names that wrote themselves into its story. 
Not so in Virginia. The Revolutionary picture 
yet holds its vivid colour, and as for the Civil 
War, we began, before we had stayed many days 
in the Old Dominion, to hsten for the echo of its 
drums and the sound of its marching. 

" We're doing pretty well," said an ex-Con- 
federate soldier who walked about with Sister and 
me in the picturesque graveyard of the church, 
St. John's, built in 1741, where Patrick Henry 
made his famous " Give me liberty or give me 
death " speech. " We're doing all right now; but 
that war we fought 'bout forty years or so ago 
set us back a long way." Forty or sixty years, 
what matter? It was nearer forty days to his 
memory. 

Richmond, with one other city I know, Paris, 
has charm. It is a totally different variety of 
charm, but it's there. You feel it immediately, 
and it grows more imminent with every day that 
passes, capturing you as charm always does. 
There are many reasons for finding Richmond 



WILLIAM AND MARY 

beautiful and attractive; Capitol Square alone, 
with the Capitol designed — of course — by Thomas 
Jefferson, is sufficient. But that plea of the 
Elizabethan poet to 

'* Love me still, and know not why. 
So have you the same reason yet to dote upon 
me everf' 

finds ready answer in Richmond. You ad- 
mire the city for its noble, tree shaded 
streets, its Colonial buildings, dignified and 
gracious as some dame of high degree, its far-flung 
views of winding river and characteristic country; 
you like its habit of leisure that is neither lazy 
nor shiftless, and your heart opens to its citizens, 
who make you feel that Richmond, being their 
home, is yours also. But behind or within these 
compelling reasons is an undefined and powerful 
quality more compelling still, and which is simply 
the charm. 

We suffered a severe disappointment in the city, 
none the less. We had had, to be sure, a taste of 
corn pone in Charlottesville. But it had arrived 
late in the meal and our enthusiasm was over. 
We wanted more. We asked, wherever we went, 
for corn pone. The marble magnificence of the 
Jefferson knew it not; the little lunch rooms on 
Broad Street refused it; it did not occur at any 

-f-36-*- 



WILLIAM AND MARY 

meal served in those homes where we were, other- 
wise, happy guests. 

" Can we have some corn pone? " Sister asked 
it of the friend who was giving us luncheon in 
the Hotel Richmond. 

Any other day, possibly. But not that day. 
It was not on the bill, to the waiter's regret. 

Then Sister told how she made it at home, and 
how good it was. " But I did want to eat the 
real Southern pone, and maybe get some hints 
as to how it's made. I've got the cornmeal, 
beautiful, golden yellow meal that I send away 
for " 

Both of us noticed the extraordinary expression 
that swept the face of our host. It was fleeting, 
but in it mingled a world of protest, of wonder, a 
shuddering horror, a frantic effort at concealment, 
with other to us unexplainable emotions. 

" It's no use," we said, " something terrible has 
happened. What is it? " 

At last we got it out of hiih. Yellow cornmeal! 

It seems that yellow cornmeal is only fit to feed 
to horses. No Southerner ever touches it. White, 
white as the sand on India's coral strand, it must 
be, sweet, water ground, so that it is never sub- 
jected to heat till it's made into pone, an ethereal, 
exquisite substance, with a flavour — the moment 
when a Frenchman would have kissed the tips of 
his fingers and sent that kiss afloat with an in- 



WILLIAM AND MARY 

comparable gesture had arrived. The Southerner 
met it differently: 

" I reckon you No'therners don't rightly under- 
stand what corn pone is," he concluded. 

So far as Richmond goes, we never had a 
chance to find out — we only discovered what it 
wasn't. 

But we must be on our way to Williamsburg — 
and how to go? 

" What you want to do is to take the boat 
down the river to Jamestown, and then get across 
to Williamsburg," we were told. And the beauty 
of that trip was extolled in no uncertain phrases. 
Past famous Westover and Brandon, and Shirley, 
ancestral home of the Carter family, the boat 
would take us. Hour after hour the green and 
lovely banks would unroll as the river swept 
along. And perhaps we should find something 
to take us to WilHamsburg at Jamestown; some- 
times there was an automobile to be hired, more 
often not. 

" But they'll get you over some way," we were 
assured. 

It sounded tempting. To be sure, when we 
discovered that the boat left at an hour which 
meant breakfast at five, my ardour fell about 
eighty-five per cent, though Sister was still strong 
for the trip. And then fate stepped in. The 
boat only ran every other morning, and it didn't 

-i- 38-J- 



WILLIAM AND MARY 

run our morning. So we took the highly con- 
venient train. 

The conductors on Southern railways have the 
manners, and many doubtless the blood, of the 
F. F. Vs. They take your ticket from you as 
though it were a privilege of no mean kind to 
accept the offering. They will not permit you to 
carry your suitcase an inch, and they are solicitous 
that you should find seats on the shady side. 

" It gives you a sort of Alice in Wonderland 
feeling," sighed Sister, as we settled ourselves. 
" Is the subway really in the same world? " 

The country, in its springtime heyday, flowed 
past, cultivated tracts alternating with marshes 
starred with wild flowers. Splendid oaks led the 
processions of the trees, topping the slight rises, 
crowned with farmhouses, and standing in stately 
groups where the fields opened out. Pine and 
dogwood contended for the dominating note of 
dark or white, making a Japanese effect of form 
and contrast. Occasionally we got a touch of 
local colour in a negro driving a two-wheeled cart 
drawn by bullocks, or a group of pickanninies 
watching the train go by. 

" All out heah for Williamsburg," observed the 
brakeman, softly but clearly. 

" Let's check our bags and walk over to the 
village and look over the land before we decide 
where to go," I proposed. " Maybe we'll like 



WILLIAM AND MARY 

one hotel better than another, and anyway we 
want to be fairly close to the college." 

There was a peculiar contraption in the station 
of the penny in the slot variety. You put a dime 
in one place and got a key and that unlocked a 
door and into the space beyond you slipped your 
baggage, locked the door and departed. But what 
if you lost the key? 

A lovely country road, grass and buttercup 
edged, drew away from the station between walls 
and fences hung with vines, wistaria among them, 
hanging its pale lavender tassels in riotous pro- 
fusion over rail or ancient brick, and spreading 
broadcast its delicate fragrance. Birds sang 
wildly in the golden sunlight. 

A little way we walked and found ourselves on 
what was evidently the village green. It was a 
solid golden sheet of buttercups edged with mighty 
trees, under whose boughs nestled old houses of 
brick and of wood, standing within gardens as 
old as themselves. Across from us a long, grey, 
rambling, dehghtful haphazard building marked 
the eastern boundary of the green — Court Green. 
A sign on this building informed us that it was 
the Colonial Inn. 

"There is our home for the next few days," 
Sister said. " Nothing shall move me from that 
position." 

An amazing nimiber of men in khaki were 
-+•40 -J- 



WILLIAM AND MARY 

crossing hither and thither, and crowding the long 
and wide Duke of Gloucester Street on which our 
Inn faced. Were they all martial college youths? 
No. These were regulars, no mistaking that fact. 

We made our way into the office, but no one 
was at the desk. Khaki filled the room. We 
seemed to be the only women in the world! A 
world of soldiers. 

" Let's wander about and see if we can find just 
a plain ordinary man to ask questions of," I 
proposed. 

But just then a youth, anxious inquiry in his 
eyes, rushed up to us. We wanted a room, and 
we wanted lunch. 

" Come into the library," he begged us, " and 
I'll see what we can do." 

We followed him into an adorable old room, 
with a fire of logs crackhng on the hearth, books 
in cases round the walls, comfortable old chairs 
drawn round the hearth, quaint ornaments on 
shelf and mantelpiece. A spinet stood in one 
corner, a huge bunch of daffodils shone in another. 

We exchanged a look of rapture. 

" There's a regiment of Marines in town," our 
guide informed us, " more than six hundred, and 
the band's quartered with us. But I reckon we 
can find a room for you two ladies somehow." 
He disappeared. 

" So that's who they are! Uncle Sam's Marines 
-?- 41 -f- 



WILLIAM AND MARY 

— They go first!" remarked Sister. "What 
larks! Probably there will be a parade. I 
wonder where the rest of the six hundred, who 
aren't the band, are put up. This seems to be 
the one place in town." 

We found out later. They camped in their 
little dog tents on the University Athletic Field, 
rows and rows of khaki shelters that didn't look 
big enough to cover a large-sized Newfoundland, 
let alone a Marine, all of whom seemed to run 
to extra sizes as men go. 

Now our host entered, and bade us welcome 
with a truly Southern grace and distinction. Yes, 
we could have a room, and yes, it should look 
out on Court Green — for we wanted that. Those 
buttercups ! 

So we surrendered the keys that guarded our 
suitcases, and went in to lunch. The long, low 
room was filled with officers and their wives, 
besides, at one table, the band in its blue uniform. 
A gay sight. Rather overpowered looking black 
waiters hurried about, doing their best. Probably 
the Inn had not had to meet such an emergency 
since the days of the Jamestown Exposition, but 
it was standing the test gallantly. We were 
served promptly, and always with that effect of 
being personally and attentively looked after that 
kept its pleasant palpability about us throughout 
our Virginian visit. 

-J- 42-?- 



WILLIAM AND MARY 

Before delivering our letter of introduction 
from a friend in Richmond to President Tyler 
of William and Mary we thought it better to go 
wandering through the old town itself, and get 
hold of the local colour. Rain clouds were be- 
ginning to pile up, and we wanted to do our 
tramping before the weather had a chance to show 
what water could do with the red soil of the 
roads. 

Williamsburg is constructed on a simple plan. 
There are three long, broad streets running east 
and west, seven or eight or more, shorter and not 
so wide, crossing at right angles. The names 
savour of the days when the English settled 
Virginia; in New England the towns changed 
their English names after the Revolution, but 
conservative Virginia kept hers. So besides the 
Duke of Gloucester there are King, Queen and 
England streets among the names. A small guide 
book told us to begin our pilgrimmage at the Inn, 
which we couldn't very well help doing. Turning 
to the left, we first went up the street to the 
site of the old capitol, on a circular green, the 
street bifurcating and sweeping round to right 
and left. 

Now nothing but the stone foundations of the 
fine building that stood here in all the glory of 
Colonial days remains to gaze upon. We sat 
down on one of the stones and looked down the 

-J- 43 -J- 



WILLIAM AND MARY 

street to the college campus and buildings, veiled 
in trees. About us historic interest was piled 
high. From 1699, when the capital was moved 
to Williamsburg from Jamestown, to 1779, when 
it betook itself to Richmond, the laws of Virginia 
were made here, and here the governors held state. 
The word Capitol was used for the first time in 
America for the Williamsburg building, built in 
the form of an H, of brick and stone. Indeed, 
there are a number of firsts in this dreamy old 
town, as we found later. 

It was in this capitol that Patrick Henry, in 
1765, on May 30, denounced the Stamp Act, and 
presented his resolutions. Eleven years later the 
Virginia Convention passed resolutions urging the 
Continental Congress to declare independence. A 
fiery and energetic group of men kept Williams- 
burg in the very front of the nation's history 
during all the long struggle for freedom. It 
was no sleepy college town in those days with its 
eyes on the past, as it is to-day, but the wild- 
beating heart of Virginian patriotism. 

Round about this ancient site are some of the 
oldest and finest of the Colonial houses that give 
the town its character. Untouched, perfectly pre- 
served, lived in to-day as throughout the long 
years, these brick or wooden houses, with their 
dormer windows, stand within their walled 
gardens, brick paths leading from gate to grace- 







'V 



>5, 1- 



o 



^ 



<4i 






■.wj- \ 



WILLIAM AND MARY 

ful doorway, and on each door shines a bright 
brass knocker and plate. Here looking like a 
New England house is the home of Peyton 
Randolph, first President of the Continental 
Congress, and a short way further on Basset 
Hall, at the end of a long lane of trees, spreads 
its noble proportions. Here hved Tyler, later 
President of the United States. Once the famous 
Raleigh Tavern stood where now a little shop 
faces on Duke of Gloucester Street. 

" It must have been a scrumptious sight in the 
old days here," Sister said. " Isn't there a picture 
in the Metropolitan Museum that shows the old 
church here, Bruton Parish Church, with stately 
men in full-bottomed coats and cocked hats, afoot 
and on horseback, greeting each other and the 
beautiful highborn ladies sitting in a coach? We 
must see that church." 

But I was not to be outdone with this display 
of cultured knowledge. 

" Did you know," I asked coldly, "that Tom 
Moore, of distinguished fame as a poet and a 
lover, once stayed right there in Basset Hall? 
And that there he wrote his poem to the Firefly, 
never having seen fireflies till he got here, on a 
night of May?" 

" There's one comfort," responded Sister. 
" Between us we know everything! " 

I had found the song in the library of the Inn 
-h 4i5-t~ 



WILLIAM AND MARY 

that very day, but I didn't think this was worth 
telling. Instead I murmured the first verse: 

''At morning when the earth and sky 
Are glowing in the light of spring, 
We see thee not, thou humble fly. 
Nor think upon thy gleaming wing'' 

" No one would dare write a stanza like that 
nowadays," I mused. " Yet how sweetly pretty.'* 

" The day when the sweetly pretty was popu- 
larly acclaimed is over," agreed Sister. " Even 
a girl needs more than that to make her a success. 
But is there not more to be seen? " 

" Thomas Jefferson announced many years ago 
that ' The only public buildings in the Colony 
worthy of mention are the capitol, the palace, the 
college and the hospital for lunatics,' " said I. 
" All are gone except the college. At least, the 
hospital was rebuilt after 1885, this foundation 
remains of the capitol, and on the site of the 
palace now stands the Whaley School, used by 
the college to train its scholars in the art of 
teaching. Yet there are things worth seeing." 

" What a Hun fire is," Sister remarked. " I 
believe Jefferson criticised the proportions and 
ornaments of the capitol, but a minister who lived 
here, the Rev. Hugh Jones, announced that it 
was the ' best and most commodious Pile of its 



WILLIAM AND MARY 

Kind that he ever had seen or heard of.' In 
1704 it was the largest and handsomest building 
anywhere in the Colonies, so they say. And when 
it was first burned down, about forty years later, 
the governor denounced the act as ' the horrid 
machinations of desperate villains instigated by 
infernal madness.' Anyhow, it is vanished, with 
not a wrack behind, unless you count this pattern 
on the grass, and the monument here." 

The Association for the Preservation of Vir- 
ginia Antiquities has set up this monument, with 
its interesting inscription, telling briefly the more 
famous incidents in the hfe of the capitol. Here, 
besides the speech of Henry, that according to 
some opinions of that time did as much to 
bring about the Revolution as any other single 
factor, occurred the various landmarks along the 
road to independence marked by Dabney Carr's 
Resolution to form a committee to confer with 
similar committees from the other colonies, a first 
step toward the ultimate union of the states, and 
later the Declaration of Rights, the work of 
George Mason, followed a few days afterwards 
by the adoption of the first written constitution 
of a free and independent state ever framed. 

Not far from the capitol used to stand the old 
prison, described by a writer of the day as "a 
strong, sweet prison." Here the wild companions 
of Black Beard the pirate were confined, and from 

-i-47-i- 



WILLIAM AND MARY 

here they went to their execution. Certainly, 
history in many phases has been made on this httle 
piece of earth. 

We sauntered up the street toward the college, 
bewitched by the old houses on the way, almost 
every one of them an exquisite example of 
the best period of the eighteenth century's con- 
ception of home architecture. A little way beyond 
the Inn a queer, octagonal building, with a sharp - 
pointed roof, turned out to be the Powder Horn, 
where powder was stored in Colonial days. When 
the news of Lexington came to Williamsburg, the 
then governor. Lord Dunmore, had the powder 
taken away in the middle of the night and shipped 
aboard a ship lying at Yorktown. The people 
of the town were furious, and made a great 
demonstration, led by Patrick Henry. So furious 
that the governor followed the powder, and was 
never again seen in Virginia. 

The Horn, or Magazine, was built under 
Governor Spotwood in 171 4-, and probably be- 
cause of its dangerous contents, never did catch 
fire. It is practically as it was then, but now is 
a museum for antiquities, under the protection of 
the same Virginia Society whose ministering hand 
has done so much to restore or to preserve what 
is old and valuable in the State. 

The street, as we drew nearer the centre of 
the town, grew livelier and livelier. Not only was 

-J- 48-?- 



WILLIAM AND MARY 

it filled with the khaki of the Marines, but also 
crowded with darkies in all sorts of ramshackle 
rigs where they weren't afoot. Baskets and mani- 
fold chatter accompanied them. It was market 
day, in fact. Gay bandannas decorated many of 
the women's heads, and black and smiling young- 
sters in print dresses raced about, far more silent 
than their elders, after the fashion of pickanninies. 
Vegetables made heaps of colour, pushcarts loaded 
with candies, oranges and other sellable things 
were steered about dexterously by young men who 
shouted gleefully to each other or to the women. 

" You-all haveter quit this foolin' and git to the 
war soon," they called, vastly amused at the idea. 

Williamsburg was settled in 1632, and then 
called the Middle Plantations, being half-way 
between Yorktown and Jamestown, in the middle 
of the peninsula. Whenever there has been 
fighting on the Continent, Williamsburg has seen 
her full share of it. " We've surely known what 
war means here," as one of the ladies said to me 
later on, " its scars are with us to this day. And 
are we to have our dear ones taken from us again ? 
Why, armies have marched back and forth over 
this town ever since Bacon's Rebellion. . . ." 

In her face was that look of indefinite sadness 
that is found so often in the faces of Southern 
women past their first youth — a heritage perhaps, 
and, who knows, a prophecy maybe? The care- 



WILLIAM AND MARY 

less negroes laughed at the idea. But the woman 
of the South can never laugh at the threat of war. 
Can you imagine a Belgian laughing at it, even 
generations hence? 

We stopped for a moment to look at a small 
sulky building, hiding behind a new shop, the old 
Poor Debtors' prison, and then crossed the street 
to look at the ancient Court House, backing on 
Court Green, said to have been designed by 
Christopher Wren. The fine sweep of stone 
steps that leads to the porch was imported from 
England when the building was erected in 1769. 
It is a simple and satisfactory house of red brick 
with white facings, beautiful in its proportions, 
with a cupola balanced by two chimneys, and a 
pointed, overhanging pediment making the roof 
for the porch. 

In enumerating the buildings that were worthy 
of mention Jefferson overlooked one of the most 
beautiful of the whole country, Bruton Church, 
built in 1715, succeeding an earlier structure 
dating between 1632 and 1665, and probably the 
oldest church building in America. It is of 
beautifully toned old brick, with a white, 
octagonal and pointed wooden tower superim- 
posed on the square brick foundation. The body 
of the church forms a cross. A brick wall sur- 
rounds it and the graveyard in which it stands, 
a lovely place, reminding you of many an old Eng- 

-j-50-i- 



WILLIAM AND MARY 

lish graveyard, even to the blooming hawthorn 
trees and ivy that shade and soften the tombs. 

Children were playing here, running in and out 
among the square headstones or the carved tombs, 
calling to each other in the soft Southern voices 
that are an unmixed delight to the ear protest- 
ingly accustomed to the raucous shrieks of New 
York's younger element. 

The dates on the headstones reach back far into 
the seventeenth century, and several bear titles. 
One recorded that it was " Sacred to the Memory 
of Lady Christina Stuart, Daughter of John 
Stuart, 6th. Earl of Traquier, and Wife of Hon. 
Cyrus Criffen, born in Peebleshire, Scot. 1751, 
Died in Virginia 1807." The sides and top were 
carved, and the sculptured arms still witnessed to 
the pride of birth that made Virginia as strongly 
aristocratic as the old land from which she drew. 
Another tomb summed up a brief life briefly. 
" Born 1787, Mar. 1808, Died 1816." 

Close by is the Whaley tomb, with its pathetic 
inscription : 

Matthew Whaley lyes 

Interred here 

Within this Tomb upon his Father dear 

Who departed this life the 

26th. of September 1705 

Aged Nine Years 

Only child of James W. and Mary his wife. 

-»- 51 -+- 



WILLIAM AND MARY 

This is the child for whom his mother left 
the money to build a free school as a memorial. 
The lady herself, so desolately bereft, went back 
to England, where she died. Mary Curtis' 
children are also buried here, close to the 
church. 

The church has passed through various vicis- 
situdes, and at one time was considerably altered 
inside by tasteless renovators, but in 1906 it was 
restored to practically its ancient condition. It is 
charming, with its rows of mahogany pews, and the 
stately governor's pew opposite the pulpit, on a 
railed-in dais, a great carved chair overhung with 
the Spotswood canopy, a strong note in the tranquil 
beauty of the place. Here through the generations 
the same service has been held, the same prayers 
spoken, here the vested choir has sung hymns 
older than the country in which it stands. We 
listened, next morning, to the prayer in time of 
war, and thought upon the days when that same 
prayer had stirred anxious hearts in the pews 
where now we sat. During the ante-war days of 
the Revolution the governor. Lord Dunmore, and 
the members of the House of Burgesses moved 
up into the gallery, ousting the college students, 
for their lack of popularity persisted even within 
the church. 

We were shown the three Communion Services, 
one given by Jamestown, another by George III., 

-?-52-*- 



WILLIAM AND MARY 

bearing the legend of the Prince of Wales, Honi 
Soit qui mal y pense, the third the gift of Lady 
Gooch, wife of Governor Gooch. This is dated 
1686. All are exquisitely fashioned. 

The coloured sacristan pointed out to us, on 
Palace Green, the Whaley School, and told us that 
we should find several old houses worth our 
while : 

" You go on roun' this heah way," he said, 
" and you'll find the house where Geo'ge Wash- 
ington lived; the Geo'ge Wythe House. And 
over yander's where the first theatre in this yer 
country used to stand." 

That was the theatre where Miss Johnston's 
" Audrey " was supposed to have played. Wash- 
ington was fond of attending the performances 
given there in the gay old days when Williams- 
burg worthily maintained her position as capital 
of the colony. A pleasant stroll across the Green 
from the Wythe House it was. We sat down 
among the buttercups and tried to reconstruct 
the picture. What a different scene from those 
that stir the imagination in the old Puritan towns 
of New England! 

But Williamsburg had its grim reminder that 
the life of man is sad. 

Leaving the church we crossed Duke of Glou- 
cester Street and took one of the cross streets, 
wishing to see the hospital (the first for the insane 

-+•53-*- 



WILLIAM AND MARY 

on this side of the Atlantic) that had been spoken 
of as very fine and well run. A guard stood at 
the gate, and seeing the numerous patients walk- 
ing and idling about the pretty grounds, we made 
no attempt to enter. The wild and sullen looks 
of the women who stared out at us took away 
the faintest desire to get a closer view, and we 
turned into a street that seemed to lead past the 
end of the long building. But we wished we 
had not taken it, for it ran close under the 
wall of the men's quarters, and as the day 
was warm they were all out on the long, 
iron-barred verandas, or sitting at the open 
windows, and our presence drew shouts of 
inquiry, which added point to the strange 
medley of sound that rose and fell in endless 
waves. 

" Let's turn back — my knees are shaking," 
whispered Sister. The road stretched on ahead, 
revealing no turning that would take us away 
from the sorrowful place. It was better to turn 
back. 

An old man, at a window on the second 
story, appealed to us in a clear, insistent 
voice : 

" If they ask after me, be sure to tell them 
I'm not here," he begged. We hurried on, but 
he called again, with greater anxiety, " Girls, if 
they ask for me, tell them I'm not here." 

-e- 54-*- 



WILLIAM AND MARY 

" Surely," I called back. " We'll tell them." 
He seemed satisfied, and reaching the corner, we 
left the dim confusion of those stricken beings 
behind us. 

" Well, we've seen the frame to the college," 
said Sister, " and it is various. Let us get to the 
college itself." 

William and Mary is the second college in 
seniority in the United States, Harvard alone 
being older. King William III. and Queen Mary 
gave it its charter in 1691 — its colours, the orange 
of Nassau and the white of York, witnessing to 
its royal lineage. It is the only college in 
America, if not in the world, to have arms given 
by the English College of Heraldry. The arms 
of most colleges draw from some donator, some 
patron of wealth and power. William and Mary's 
are her own alone. On a golden shield a silver 
college building, with a sun above, shedding 
its rays below, and at the bottom the date 
of the actual beginning of the institution, 
1693. 

But though this Virginian college was not the 
first in existence, it was first in many ways. The 
desire for a college had been stirring in the colony 
since 1619, and though the Indian massacre of 
1622 checked all chance of its building for many 
years, the idea persisted, waiting only a favourable 
opportunity. 



WILLIAM AND MARY 

First it was, to get a charter from the Crown, 
first to have a full Faculty, and first to award 
medals for collegiate prizes through the generosity 
of Lord Botetourt. It was also first in having 
a Greek letter fraternity. Phi Beta Kappa, now 
one of the great societies in all the larger colleges 
and universities. It also first inaugurated a 
system of elective studies, the honour system, and 
the first schools for foreign languages and muni- 
cipal law, these latter under the urging of Thomas 
Jefferson, who was one of the many distinguished 
graduates of the college, and who got several of 
his ideas for his own University from his Alma 
Mater. Two other firsts may be recorded: here 
political economy was first taught, and here the 
first school of history was founded. 

Something of achievement, certainly. 

At the foot of the Duke of Gloucester Street 
a tall iron gateway marks the entrance to the 
campus, though there is no fence or wall about 
the grounds. These are triangular in shape, well 
grassed, with fine trees. A flagged walk leads 
straight to the main and oldest building, which, 
five times burned, has always been rebuilt upon 
the original stout brick walls. It is a beautiful, 
harmonious structure, solidly set upon the turf, 
overgrown with vines, through which the mellow 
brick shows warmly. Double storied, with a 
slender cupola on top, and a fine projecting 



WILLIAM AND MARY 

entrance, the lower portion magnificently arched, 
it has an effect of serene dignity and welcome. 
Within this building are the Chapel, two Literary 
Society halls, the treasurer's office and a dozen or 
more lecture rooms. It is the heart of the 
college. 

Almost as old are the two brick buildings that 
flank the walk just within the entrance, Brafferton 
Hall, where the first Indian School in the country 
once had its being, and the President's house. 
Brafferton is now a dormitory. Across the road 
are three other dormitories and the mess hall. 
Most of the students live in dormitories, though 
some board in town. The place is a real college. 
Its three hundred students know each other in- 
timately, and their daily life is lived together. 
We watched them as they drifted here and there 
in laughing groups. It was Saturday afternoon, 
and no work was to do. Girls walked with them, 
girls reminding you of Judge Coalter's remark, 
in 1791, to the effect that he " scarcely knew a 
place more pleasing than Williamsburg, which 
may justly receive the title, the land of lovely 
dames." The men looked unusually youthful for 
college men, boys hardly attained to their twenties, 
one would say. But a tremendous spirit of friend- 
hness and comradeship made itself felt. These 
boys were going to look back on their years at 
William and Mary with a home feeling that it is 



WILLIAM AND MARY 

difficult to imagine associated with the great 
universities of our Eastern States. 

During the Revolution the French camped on 
the college campus and inadvertently burned the 
President's house. Louis XVI. rebuilt it out of 
his privy purse, donating a collection of books as 
further proof of his contrition and graciousness. 
The work was perfectly done, and the house is 
a charming addition to the group on the campus. 
An interesting detail is that the flagged walks 
form the letters W M. 

A series of contretemps prevented us from 
seeing President Tyler at the college or in his 
house. This was the more disappointing, as he 
had promised to show us the treasures of the 
Hbrary, gathered in the new building close to the 
Athletic Field. We stepped into the room, for 
most of the building consists of one large room, 
and glaced at some of the portraits and drawings, 
the old prints, and the interesting looking backs 
of rows of old books and manuscripts. But that 
is as far as we got. Several students were reading 
comfortably in big chairs — it was the homiest 
looking college library either of us had ever 
visited. 

Oddly enough the space beneath the main col- 
lege building was used as a burial ground for 
several of the great men of Williamsburg. Here 
lie the Randolphs, Sir John and his two sons, 



WILLIAM AND MARY 

Peyton and John, with Lord Botetourt, Bishop 
Madison and Chancellor Nelson. Washington 
was Chancellor of the college at one time. Before 
the main hall stands the statue of this Botetourt, 
the most popular of all the royal governors, show- 
ing a suave, agreeable man delicately clad in the 
height of the then fashion. It was made in 1773, 
and stands on a beautiful base cut with word on 
word of fervent praise. A fascinating, competent 
and delightful gentleman this Lord Botetourt, 
evidently. 

William and Mary is now a state college, and 
much of its energy is devoted to training men as 
teachers for the public and private schools of the 
country. 

So far as we could see, none of its students 
were in khaki. But as we passed the Gj^mnasium 
on our way to the Athletic Field, dotted over with 
the tents of the Marines, in regular rows stretch- 
ing away from the Colonel's walled tent, before 
which stood the Colours, we found that they were 
decidedly interested in military manifestations. 
The whole college and most of the town had 
gradually collected there. 

Baseball was in practice at a dozen different 
spots, the soldiers of the sea and the college lads 
playing together with shouts of glee and roars of 
laughter and excitement. Everywhere over the 
orderly grounds strolled the boys, looking and 

-i-59-i- 



WILLIAM AND MARY 

asking questions. The tennis courts were deserted, 
and the many diversions of Saturday afternoon 
sacrificed to hobnobbing with the men from the 
ships. 

" This is their second day here," one of the 
college boys told us. " To-morrow morning they 
go back to Yorktown. But to-night the officers 
are giving a dance at the Inn, and the Marine 
Band's going to play. It will be fine. You'll 
be there, of course? " He smiled at us. " The 
diningroom at the Inn makes a fine place for 
dancing." 

The students at William and Mary find their 
fun, not in the way that the men at Yale or 
Harvard find theirs, a way usually including the 
spending of much money and the acquiring of a 
good deal of sophistication, but in the way that 
boys growing up in an old and small town, where 
the social element is strong and well founded, find 
theirs. The life of the college student mingles 
with the life of the old families of the town. He 
has his particular interests, of course, his debating 
societies — and William and Mary has more than 
once carried away the prize for oratory from all 
the other colleges or universities in Virginia — his 
Literary Societies, his college papers, his athletics. 
But he knows the daughters of the time-honoured 
houses of Williamsburg as he might the girls in 
his home town, he is asked to dinner or to tea, 

-?-60-^- 



WILLIAM AND MARY 

and in the hospitable walls of the Inn he goes to 
many a dance, to many a party. A flavour of the 
older days still gives to the college a quality of 
intimacy and cohesion rare to-day, but desirable 
as rare. 

And now, with a rattle of drums and the clear 
call of the fife, the Marines were marching. 

And we all marched with them, or at least 
behind them. Down the broad street to the 
stretches of Court Green, where, for over a 
hundred years, soldiers have paraded and village 
sports taken place. We, the spectators, some 
sitting on the grass, others on the steps of the 
houses, or in motors or carriages, ranged round 
the square. The Marines deployed upon it, and 
prepared for dress parade. 

" We are in amazing luck," exclaimed Sister. 
"Isn't it a stunning sight; but I do hope it is 
not going to rain! " 

Here and back again swung the martial lines, 
responding to the sharply enunciated orders of the 
officers. The band played, the band stopped. 
The manual of arms was gone through with 
snappily. Again the band blared out and again 
the men swung along in measured cadence. Cer- 
tainly it was a sight to stir the blood. 

And the rain did hold off till it was all over. 
Then there came a spattering, and we all raced 
for cover, we lookers on. The Inn proved a 

-?-61-e- 



WILLIAM AND MARY 

convenient spot for shelter — and presently the 
veranda was crowded with officers, college boys, 
pretty girls and older people. The balcony above 
took the overflow. Then the rain stopped. 

Upon which the band marched out in front to 
give us a concert. 

" It's like old days — in a way," I heard a lady, 
white haired and gentle of voice, murmur to her 
companion. 

One of the officers stepped up on a waiting 
motor car when the music ceased and began to 
make a brief but extremely thrilHng speech, urging 
the young men bf Williamsburg to volunteer. 

Here, on the very ground where the Union 
soldiers had burned and torn down the homes and 
public buildings of the forefathers of those youths 
listening in the last flickerings of rain, we heard 
the appeal to fight for our common democracy, 
spoken in the short, swift sentences of a 
soldier : 

" We have just heard that Conscription is 
coming," he said. "War is already here. Many 
of you young men will be drafted into it — many, 
I hope, will volunteer for it. And it looks as 
though you who are still too young to be drafted 
or to volunteer will grow up into this war and 
have to fight in your turn. But the harder we 
strike, the quicker we strike — the better our chance 
for ending this war soon — for ending war itself. 

-j-62-«- 



WILLIAM AND MARY 

Strike we must, against the greatest peril this 
country has yet had to face. War is a horrible 
thing. We, whose business it is, know that better 
than any, and perhaps hate it worse. We 
Americans will never be a militaristic nation. 
Our whole national ideal is opposed to war, to 
aggression, to the military ideal. But we have 
never hung back when the hour to fight has come, 
and we shall not hang back now. There is fight- 
ing ahead of us, suffering ahead of us, sacrifice 
ahead of us — at the end there is triumph, peace, 
security for all we hold precious ahead of us. 
And it is you, you, the young men of America, 
who must help to win this peace and this security. 
There is no way to win it except by fighting." 

Sister and I sat on the balcony, looking down 
at the young faces turned toward the speaker. 
It took little imagination to conjure behind them 
the figures of the mighty past, when Williamsburg 
had blazed in the very forefront of the first great 
struggle for liberty; or to hear, within the words 
of the officer who spoke, the ringing cry of Patrick 
Henry, spoken but a few yards from the very 
spot where we were gathered: 

" Tarquin and Cassar had each his Brutus, 
Charles the First his Cromwell, and George the 
Third — George the Third may profit by their 
example. If this be treason, make the most 
of it!" 

-»-63-«- 



WILLIAM AND MARY 

But the band struck up Dixie and the ghosts 
disappeared. The next moment we were being 
presented to most of WiUiamsburg as well as 
meeting the officers of the visiting regiment. 
College boys and young girls began drifting away 
to waiting suppers, talking of many things, doubt- 
less, besides the war, and the older people, after 
bidding us welcome with that gracious charm that 
is so characteristic of Virginia, and hoping to see 
us later at the dance, followed their sons and 
daughters down the broad, quiet streets and into 
the beautiful old houses in and out of whose doors 
have passed so many patriots, so many men with- 
out whom America would have been poor indeed. 

We felt that we had seen Williamsburg at a 
peculiarly fortunate moment of her life ; something 
of the stir of the older days was here again; and 
that evening, in the long room of the Inn, some- 
thing of the colour and charm and gaiety of the 
days of the Raleigh Tavern, when the town was 
a city, the capital of the colony, when the House of 
Burgesses was sitting and the Supreme Court in 
Session, when, in fact, the season was on, the 
theatre drawing its nightly gatherings of stately 
cavalier and powdered dame, and the big coaches 
swinging to open doors with guests for dinner 
and guests for the dance, something of all this 
was reconstructed that evening. 

To be sure, we danced the fox trot and the 



WILLIAM AND MARY 

one step, and the men were in evening clothes or 
khaki, while the Marine Band played music 
written later than the days of the Revolution. 
But what of that? 

When Thomas Jefferson was a law student in 
the town he had written home, heading his letter 
" Devilsburg " in a jocose spirit, and had stated 
that the night before he had been supremely 
happy, dancing with Belinda. The present-day 
Belindas have lost nothing of fascination. We 
thought we had not often seen so many pretty 
girls, and what a royal time they were having, 
splitting dances three and four times, surrounded 
by little courts, and managing their swains 
inimitably. 

" There isn't a doubt but that these Southern 
girls know how," whispered Sister, as we watched 
one little beauty distributing her smiles and words 
with an exquisite impartiality, making of her 
evening and of each dance a work of art. " It's 
a gift — nature's dower." 

Next morning the Marines marched away, and 

Wilhamsburg fell back into her present-day state 

of village calm. 

^ If ever a town and a college were one, that 

town and that college are Williamsburg and 

William and Mary. From all we were told, and 

all we could see they are one big family. Now 

P that the mint grows unplucked in Virginia gardens 

\ -H 65 ■+- 



WILLIAM AND MARY 

there are no taverns such as those that in older 
days drew the college youth to roistering or taught 
them the delight of gambling. But William and 
Mary was always dignified. Her classes were and 
are small. Yet many great men have come from 
these classes. Four Presidents of the United 
States were students here, congressmen, senators, 
jurists, at least one Judge of the Supreme Court; 
she gave us that Clark who won the country the 
Northwest Territory, she gave generals both to 
the North and the South in the war between us. 
Her heritage is great, and the men who go from 
her to-day, to teach all over the country or to 
enter the various learned professions as the case 
may be, are full of the spirit that has made her 
so important a part of our history. The town 
where they spend four years is scarcely changed 
by the passing of time. During the Jamestown 
Exposition the citizens were considerably upset by 
a proposition to build a trolley up the Duke of 
Gloucester Street. They escaped the threatened 
peril, and continue to be allowed the privilege 
of walking and the peace of no other sounds than 
those of the horses going softly through the dust 
or mud, or the chugging of the automobiles that 
even Williamsburg conservatism has not kept 
away. They have kept the old names, and the 
old houses. Six miles away lies Jamestown, now 
no more than a lovely group of old buildings 

-J- 66-?- 



WILLIAM AND MARY 

within a charming park ; twelve miles on the other 
side is old Yorktown, as picturesque, ahuost as 
ancient, almost as small. Williamsburg is a 
stronghold of the past, a sort of enchanted ground, 
lovely and quiet as a dream. 



67 



CHAPTER III 

Annapolis 

We went to Annapolis on the electric line from 
Baltimore, and can recommend the trip to any one. 
It runs through charming country, all planted out 
in strawberry fields and wheat fields, in kitchen 
gardens, or else running wild to flourishing woods. 
Coming up from Richmond, we found the spring 
a trifle younger. Apple blossoms back on the 
trees, dogwood just whitening on the bough, and 
round the pretty houses the clear gold of forsythia. 
Annapolis is as clean and bright as a new 
whistle, in spite of its dignified age, witnessed by 
the innumerable stately mansions that speak a day 
when men built houses that matched a courtlier 
time and more gracious manners than we know 
to-day. When they built for a family, for sons to 
succeed them, and set their homes within gardens 
whose large leisure reflected their own spirit, 
unhurried, never idle, serene. Within its small 
extent Annapolis has more of these fine old homes 
than any other place in America. It has also 
been a sailor town so long it must be as spic and 
span as it is old and noble — there is the air of a 
quarterdeck to Annapolis. 



ANNAPOLIS 

The little city is almost surrounded by water 
and the breath of the sea is sweet across it. Its 
greatest interest, next to its own existence, is 
the fact of the Naval Academy, of whose fine 
portals, with the dome of its Chapel, you con- 
stantly catch glimpses, now down some tree- 
embowered street, now across a little square, or 
beyond blue water and clustering fishing craft 
from an old wharf — and the old wharves are a 
mighty pleasant section of a most adorable town. 

The centre of all is the State House, a square 
Colonial building with a white cupola and noble 
portico, that stands on a slight rise, the avenues 
and streets leading to it from the radius of a 
circle, and a flourishing little park surrounding it. 
Close by are the Governor's House, old churches, 
the court house, in fact, the whole group of public 
buildings, and many of the finest mansions. But 
truly everything is close to it, for the town is as 
compact as it is small; a morning's stroll will take 
you all over it, from the line of the old Civil War 
fortifications and the site of the one-time gate to 
the Severn River and Annapolis Harbour, from 
College Creek to Spa Creek. 

" We will begin with the Academy," I ex- 
pounded to Sister, " because we may perhaps not 
be able to begin there, or even get there. The 
hand of the Kaiser has swung-to the gates of the 
Naval Academy and kept the townsfolk from 

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ANNAPOLIS 

their agreeable task of overlooking parade and 
listening to the band at sunset. It also bars 
visitors from out of town. Will the publisher's 
letter that I proudly carry prove stronger than 
the German threat? We'll see." 

So we climbed out of the car at the very 
entrance to the beautiful grounds. Above the 
sky was a brilliant blue, with galleon clouds, 
snowy-white, sailing on the west wind. Beyond 
the bluest water flung white foam from wave to 
wave, and everywhere else was green, green, 
green. Each little new leaf looked to be swinging 
its hat for very joy of life . . . yo-ho, heave-ho! 
. . . while every grass-blade danced a tiny horn- 
pipe. 

But the Marine who stood on guard inside those 
gates danced nothing. His demeanour was grave, 
even formidable^ as we approached the forbidden 
entrance. 

We produced our letter and were led to the 
sentry house just inside, where we handed our 
credentials to a second guard; and presently 
thereafter we were being escorted to the Superin- 
tendent's house. 

Captain Eberley is the present head of the 
Academy, a man of evident force and distinction, 
a fit inheritor of the notable line of officers who 
have preceded him at the post he holds. He 
granted our request to be allowed to see the 

i-+- 70 -i- 



ANNAPOLIS 

college without hesitation, speaking of the neces- 
sity of taking precautions and regretting that we 
could not see the Academy in its normal and 
more welcoming state, when there was some play 
mixed with the large amount of work that made 
the daily routine of the cadets' life. 

" At ordinary times it would be better to come 
late in the afternoon for parade and the chance 
it gives to see the students lined up — but the 
social side of Annapolis isn't very much in evi- 
dence at present. But you can see the grounds 
and the buildings at least." 

He assigned us a Marine as guide, and off 
we marched to look over Uncle Sam's plant for 
producing sailor officers — a plant said to be the 
finest for the purpose in the world. 

Since the Spanish War the country has spent 
some fifteen million dollars in replacing the old, 
unsatisfactory and inadequate buildings with 
which the Navy had struggled for long years by 
the splendid new ones that now stand in their 
white beauty, magnificently grouped about as fine 
a parade ground and park as could be wished on 
any college. To be sure, there has been a wail 
or so from the cadets in regard to the breezy open 
spaces of the new arrangement. Even Lovers' 
Lane, a broad walk curving near the bandstand, 
knows nothing of nooks and corners. In the 
annual published by the graduating class the stu- 



ANNAPOLIS 

dents give way to feelings and opinions, sometimes 
in prose, occasionally in verse. One inspired mid- 
shipman of the class of 1910 poured out his soul 
in several stanzas bewailing the bright changes. 
We memorised the last of the stanzas, and here 
it is: 

" For in this place new buildings stand, 
All stiff and new and white. 
With not a single quiet nook 
That's not out in plain sight! '* 

The Academy is a clean swept place of noble 
spaces and proportions, shaded by fine trees and 
traversed by white paths. Every inch of it is 
" out in plain sight." Perhaps the ingenuity of 
youth discovers opportunities for flirtation, but 
certainly the architects and landscape artists, who 
laid out the new Annapolis, made no provision 
whatever for the romantically inclined. 

" Remember the magnolia shaded terraces and 
walled gardens of the University of Virginia, the 
wistaria hung porches and lilac fenced corners of 
Williamsburg," murmured Sister, as we walked 
the trim reaches of Lovers' Lane. " It's all very 
well to hold strictly to business, as they do here; 
but why the sardonic humour implied in calling 
this Lovers' Lane?" "Affecting a virtue if they 
have it not," I responded. " But, instead of pity- 



ANNAPOLIS 

ing the cadets because they seem here to be 
denied the sailor's immemorial right to flirt, let 
us look at the thorough preparation that has been 
made for them to work." 

The Superintendent's house flanks the Chapel 
to the right, as you stand facing it, with the 
Administration building to the left. These are 
on the town side of the reservation and opposite 
from them, across a broad stretch of lawn, is the 
Basin, where are anchored the ships used in 
training the cadets. Among these is the Reina 
Mercedes, a Spanish battleship captured in the 
Spanish War, and now a receiving ship. 

" She was sunk, but they got her up again 
and cleaned her out and keep her here," said our 
Marine. " She makes a good ship for what they 
want." 

" Maybe we'll have some German ships to 
range alongside of her," hazarded Sister. 

" Some of them submarines might come handy," 
agreed the Marine. But his mission was to show 
us the Academy, not to prophesy, and he now 
led us to the door of the Chapel. 

Or rather, before its gates, magnificent sheets 
of sculptured bronze that were presented by 
Colonel Robert M. Thompson as a memorial to 
the class of '68, with which he graduated. The 
massive beauty of these doors make a fit entrance 
to a church, new as it is, that has a dignity, an 



ANNAPOLIS 

up -springing grace and virile strength which make 
it rememberable among all the collegiate Chapels 
in the country. Its fine dome rises superbly from 
the main portion of the building, built in the form 
of a Greek cross whose short arms are bound 
together by the circular arch of the walls. This 
Chapel dominates the entire splendid group of 
grey-white buildings whose key-note is strength 
and simplicity, giving the final touch of inspira- 
tion and aspiration needed to express the spirit 
of the place. 

As we entered the Marine surrendered us to 
the care of a coloured gentleman who rapidly 
imparted a number of statistics and pointed out 
various memorial gifts. We heeded him little. 
The interior was both rich and grave, and must 
make a wonderful frame for the students in their 
dark-blue uniforms, as they sit rank by rank in 
a solid group in their own particular portion of 
the auditorium. If they are like other college 
boys, let us hope that the sermons are short. We 
wished that we might see them march in and out, 
and hear them sing. And then we asked if we 
might go to the crypt and look upon the tomb 
of Paul Jones. 

Yes, the Marine was ready for that. 

John Paul Jones is to America what Nelson is 
to the English, the consummate hero of the seas. 
Not only is he a hero, but the years that have 

-?- 74) -J- 



ANNAPOLIS 

gone have not been able to dim the rich human 
quality of the man. His charm reaches us yet 
and warms our hearts to him. 

Now he lies, sepulchered in pomp, within a 
great sarcophagus of black and white porphyry, 
richly veined. Stands of flags decorate the cir- 
cular chamber, with streamers bearing the name 
of the Bonhomme Richard, and golden cables 
guard the entrance to the tomb itself. A solemn 
state shrouds the dust that held so much fire. 
A gallant and daring spirit it was, lit by the 
flame of genius, and all this marble and all this 
dim splendour of flag and column and arch are 
not too much to do it honour. 

We turned silently to leave, but were checked 
at the exit by the guardian of the place, who 
beckoned us to the register, and asked us to set 
down our names. We did so, and mounted the 
steps that led out again to the green spring. 

" What do you suppose," said Sister, " becomes 
of all the registers once they are filled with names? 
Who ever reads them? What are they good for? 
Where are they kept? " 

" That's like those terrible questions about what 
becomes of the lost pins. But it is remarkable, 
that passion for getting names into a book wher- 
ever tourists might be expected to congregate. 
Whose the honour, tourist or book? Shall we ask 
the Marine? " 

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ANNAPOLIS 

But the Marine now pointed out the general 
plan of the buildings. We were not here to 
ask so much as to see and listen. His words 
were brief and his information clear. 

To the right of the Chapel group stood Ban- 
croft Hall, the dormitory of the students, whose 
magnificent fa9ade extends for 1,208 feet. On 
one side it faces in upon the campus park, on the 
other it looks out upon Annapolis Harbour. 
Flanking it on either hand are the Armory and 
the Seamanship buildings. Beautiful pergolas 
join the whole together with rows of graceful 
columns. The stone used in all the work is not 
so much white as a tender grey, that harmonises 
admirably with the tones of the water and the 
brilliant verdure of the lawns and trees. 

Opposite Bancroft and removed by the whole 
sweep of the green that lies back of the Basin 
are the Engineering and Mathematical Depart- 
ments, the Steam Building, and to the right of 
these the Power House, standing on a small 
peninsula forming the northern boundary of the 
Basin. Besides these buildings there are the 
various houses for the officers and their families, 
Sampson Row, Upshur Row, Rodgers Row. 
These rows skirt the town side of the Reservation. 
Farther to the north, across College Creek, is 
the NTaval Cemetery. 

This perfect arrangement, as well as the com- 
-j-76-e- 



ANNAPOLIS 

prehensive scheme of building, is due mainly to 
the energy and enthusiasm of two men, Rear- 
Admiral Philip H. Cooper and Colonel Robert 
M. Thompson, the same officer who gave to the 
Chapel its bronze doors. Thej'^ were big men, 
and they did a big thing, against all sorts of 
delay and opposition. Ernest Flagg, the New 
York architect, was the man chosen to consult 
with them and with the Board of Visitors once 
the necessary permissions and appropriations had 
been secured. This was in 1895. But before 
actual work commenced the Spanish War arrived 
to call another halt, and it was not until '98 that 
the corner stone was laid by Rear- Admiral F. V. 
McNair, who had succeeded Admiral Cooper as 
Superintendent of the Academy. 

Visitors are not allowed in the class rooms or the 
quarters, but may see the library and the flag room, 
as well as the machinery room, where innumerable 
models of engines old and modern are collected and 
are visible. The library and flag room occupy the 
central portion of the Engineering and Mathe- 
matical Building, these departments being placed 
in the two wings, that advance at right angles, the 
building making a hollow square open at one 
end. Over the main entrance is a balcony, and 
here we stood for a few moments to watch the 
classes march across between the point where we 
waited and Bancroft Hall. It was a splendid 



ANNAPOLIS 

sight. Two classes came from Bancroft toward 
us, while the two others marched back. They 
came and they went with a swing to the gay note 
of the bugle, the dark-blue uniforms and white 
caps as snappy to the eye as the alert marching 
step was to the ear. In tip-top athletic form, 
slender, straight, each boy keeping perfect align- 
ment, rank by rank they moved, now in the sun, 
now under the shading elms, a gallant thing to 
see. 

And that was our only view of the students. 

The library consists of a long, handsome room, 
beautifully fitted, and hung with portraits of 
distinguished officers. In serried ranks the books 
crowded the long shelves, all of them, it seemed to 
our hurried glances, devoted to technical subjects. 
There were plenty of magazines on the tables, 
however, and doubtless the lighter moods of liter- 
ature find room somewhere among those many 
volumes. We got brief time to make discoveries, 
however, for time was on the march, and the 
Marine with it. The flag room was our next 
goal. 

It has often been observed that human emotion 
is a strange and unaccountable thing. Most of 
the rules the nations have made are attempts to 
control and direct it, and most of our individual 
life is spent in doing something of the same 
sort. What raises one man to heaven throws 

-f-78-J- 



ANNAPOLIS 

another into hell, and your heart will beat wildly- 
enough at what leaves your neighbour cold. 

But go into that flag room at Annapolis, fellow 
American, and remain unmoved if you can. 
What, after all, is a flag? A piece of coloured 
cloth, no more? Yet, looking round that circular 
chamber, about whose walls, carefully sheltered 
behind glass and exquisitely preserved against the 
tearing fingers of time, hang the rich folds of the 
standards, each with its own story; looking up at 
the ceiling where are spread the captured banners 
of many a bitter battle, surrounding that famous 
flag, which, flying over Fort McHenry, inspired 
Francis Scott Key to the writing of the National 
anthem; thus looking, standing in that silent 
chamber, you will find your heart thumping and 
your breath come short. 

The place holds the quality of grandeur. 
These banners, that flew in the wild breezes above 
fighting men, that waved from fort and ship or 
fluttered in the clutch of a standard bearer at 
the head of his Marine regiment, hang strangely 
still and silent. Captured flags beside those that 
were brought home in triumph. Flags from all 
the world, and flags that tell the magnificent story 
of our ships wherever those ships have sailed and 
fought. 

Here hangs the flag of the Maine, found ready 
to hoist at the foot of its mast. Here is the flag 

-J-79H- 



ANNAPOLIS 

of Perry of the Lakes, and, stirring the heart 
above the rest, Lawrence's flag, that carried the 
immortal " Don't Give Up the Ship." And how 
manj'^ foreign flags ! 

" We seem to have been fighting all the time 
and everywhere," Sister whispered. 

China, England, Tripoh, the Philippines, 
Korea, each hangs a tribute on these walls. 
Strange designs, fantastic patterns, flaming 
colours, each with its story. 

Softly we trod the magic circle of that room 
and left it to its solemn reveries. A place of 
symbols, where glory and death have met, and 
glory conquered. 

Our tour of the grounds was over, and we were 
back at the gate, with thanks to our competent 
guide, the most silent I have ever met, but by 
no means the least satisfactory on that score. 

The Naval Academy dates back to 1845, when 
a few old buildings on the Army Reservation at 
Point Severn were handed over as the nucleus 
of a Naval School. Up to that time the teaching 
of a midshipman consisted in going to sea and 
getting licked into shape somehow, learning to 
handle a ship and studying the intricacies of 
navigation much as Ohver Twist learned to spell 
window, by getting to work washing it. But 
when steam came in something more of prepara- 
tion was recognised as necessary. 

-^80-^- 




;1 



The Center of All is the State House 



ANNAPOLIS 

The inadequate and rather haphazard school 
turned out good officers, though no comprehen- 
sive plan as yet underlay its teaching or training. 
In the Civil War the school moved to Newport. 
And at last, when it returned in 1865, a man who 
saw its possibilities and dreamed of its future, 
Admiral David H. Porter, took hold and raised 
the standards of instruction. During his long 
administration the school became really great. 
In 1881 Captain Ramsay was made Superin- 
tendent, and in him again Annapolis was for- 
tunate. From then on her progress has been 
swift and steady, till now she ranks the entire 
world. 

A cadet's life is held wihin far narrower bounds 
than that of the average college student. Prac- 
tically all of a naval cadet's time is spent on the 
Academy grounds. But one of Annapohs' most 
treasured traditions is the close and friendly rela- 
tionship subsisting between the families of the 
officers and the young students under training at 
the post. A constant and delightful social inter- 
course is maintained, and the value of this on the 
manners and the character of the boys cannot be 
overestimated. A naval officer must possess con- 
siderable social poise to meet properly the various 
duties that fall upon him, both at home and in 
foreign countries. The ease that comes from 
mixing with well-bred people must be part of his 

-j-Sl-f- 



ANNAPOLIS 

endowment. The teas, the dinners, the dances 
and the real friendships that enter into the life 
of each cadet are as useful as they are delightful 
in helping to develop him from the raw country 
boy he may have been into the trained and finished 
officer he is at graduation. 

Like West Point, Annapolis is a place for hard 
work, not for play. Athletics are the chief di- 
version at both these schools. Cadets don't trapse 
about town, don't own motor cars, don't turn up 
at recitations if they like and cut them if they 
prefer. They must account for every hour of 
their day, and their life is ruled by the strictest 
discipline. Yet they seem to get in a lot of fun. 
In addition to the rules and regulations of the 
place itself, they have innumerable ones of their 
own, especially for regulating the lower classes 
and seeing that they very much toe the mark. 
Hazing has been stopped, and these rules 
awake more amusement than anything else, and 
furnish material for all sorts of jokes between 
individuals in the different classes. As each class 
attains graduation it brings out a number of The 
Lucky Bag, a stout volume that is crammed full 
of personal and particular history. Each student's 
portrait with a brief and witty-as-may-be sum- 
mary of his character and accomplishment is in- 
cluded, and there are hits and allusions, scraps of 
verse and prose, pictures of the athletic teams, 

-J- 82-?- 



ANNAPOLIS 

the fencers and ball players, the foot ball team, 
sketches of salient moments, drawings of lovely 
girls — a whole world of undergraduate interest, 
frolic and achievement. The name of the annual 
comes from an old ship's custom. On a cruise 
the odds and ends left lying about deck or any- 
where else where they should not have been left 
were gathered up and stowed away in a great sack. 
At the end of the cruise the contents were dis- 
tributed by lot among the sailors; some got a 
good haul, some nothing worth the picking 
up. 

But the Naval Academy is by no means the 
whole of Annapolis. There is St. John's College, 
lying just across from the upper part of the reser- 
vation, the two being separated by King George 
Street. This college was founded as King 
William's School in 1695, the first free school in 
America. Its main building, McDowell HalJ, 
was begun in 1742, and then intended for the 
governor's residence, but for some reason the 
intention remained unfulfilled. It is a fine 
example of Colonial architecture, and with Hum- 
phrey Hall, to the left as you mount the slope 
of the campus from College Avenue, it makes 
most of the college; there are four or five smaller 
buildings in the group, however, nobly placed on 
a beautifully laid out and tree-covered lawn that 
stretches away to the northwest as far as College 

-H-83-i- 



ANNAPOLIS 

Creek. At this end there is a monument to the 
French soldiers and sailors who fell in the Revolu- 
tion, erected by the Sons of the Revolution. 

St. John's was the Alma Mater of Francis 
Scott Key, as a bronze tablet in the fa9ade of 
McDowell Hall relates. And there is another 
special possession of the college, the great Liberty 
Tree, standing on the campus part way up the 
slope. This tree is a tulip, and of enormous size. 
It is a forest in itself, and as we stood under it, 
looking up into the vast spread of branches, and 
Hstening to a world of birds singing among the 
innumerable leaves, it appeared rather like the 
tree of some ancient folk tale than an actual plant. 
Its age is unknown, but under its boughs a treaty 
between the Susquehannock Indians and the first 
white settlers of that locality was drawn up. 
Since that day it has seen countless political 
gatherings; here the early settlers made rendez- 
vous to consider plans for defence, here Wash- 
ington and Lafayette walked in earnest talk, and 
beneath it the French tents were pitched in 
Revolutionary days. Apparently it has always 
been a notable tree, older and larger than any 
other, in all that countryside. 

Annapolis is full of old and beautiful relics 
of past days. Fire has wrought less destruction 
here than in most of our Colonial cities. Only a 
few years younger than ivy -hung St. John's, where 

-?-84-«- 



ANNAPOLIS 

for awhile we watched the collegians drilling on 
the campus, is the State House, that stands on 
the highest part of the peninsula on which 
Annapolis is built, within the green circle of its 
parked grounds. The present building was begun 
in 1772, and is one of the finest expressions of 
the architecture of its noble period. The bricks 
that went to its making are English, and charm- 
ingly patterned. The spacings of walls and 
windows are managed in masterly style, and 
though the windows are not large, the whole effect 
carries elegance. A pointed pediment flanked by 
two chimneys surmounts the second story above 
the pillared portico, and above all soars the dome, 
a curious structure in its detail but most agree- 
able to the eye. From the top of this dome we 
looked out on the whole of the little city, ringed 
by its blue and silver waters and dressed in the 
green finery of hundreds of trees. There lay the 
Academy, a lovely pattern; there old St. John's, 
close beside us the ancient church of St. Anne, 
and amid fair gardens the fair houses of the brave 
men and noble who had made the capital their 
home through the long history the town has 
known. 

It was in this building, in the old Senate 
Chamber, that Washington surrendered his com- 
mission as Commander in Chief, and that, a year 
later, the Treaty of Peace with Great Britain 

-h 85 -Ir- 



ANNAPOLIS 

was signed and delivered. The room has been 
kept in the same condition, with the desk over 
which the resignation was tendered still in posi- 
tion. A great painting of the event is hung on 
the wall, and portraits of the four Signers of the 
Declaration of Independence who were citizens 
of Annapolis, Stone, Chase, Paca and Carroll of 
Carrollton. 

Close to the State House, in the same Circle, 
stands a simple little one-storied building of brick 
with a gabled entrance. This is now apparently 
unused, but was till lately at least the Treasury. 
It dates from the Seventeenth Century, and in 
it the House of Burgesses met in Colonial 
days. 

"Walking through these streets and lingering 
by these old houses is very much like opening a 
volume of our early history and stepping into it 
bodily," remarked Sister, as we sauntered along 
the leafy ways. The very names of the streets 
belong to another day. King George and Prince 
George, Cornhill, Hanover, Calvert (family name 
of Lord Baltimore), Carroll. Here too is a Glou- 
cester Street, that used to be Duke of Gloucester, 
named after the same child honoured in Williams- 
burg, whose early death struck the joy from the 
heart of his father, William of Orange, and left 
Anne childless. And each street has its wonderful 
old houses, some set far back from the quiet 



ANNAPOLIS 

street, some closely edging it and walling the view 
from the magnolia-planted garden behind. Inside, 
we were told, are doors and mantels carved by 
hand — the mantelpiece of the Brice mansion had 
an international reputation, and the house is 
notable even in that town of notable homes, with 
its great, flat end-chimneys, its high pitched roof, 
the wings connected by corridors and buried in 
ivy. Then the Chase House, the finest specimen 
of its type in all America, famous for the silver 
mounted mahogany doors, the great double stair- 
case with its classic pillars and the chimney pieces 
carved with scenes from Shakespeare's plays. 
This wonderful house, whose carved breakfast 
room was fit for kings to eat in, is now used 
as an old people's home. It is pleasant to think 
of the old folk finishing their days in a house 
whose own age is like a benediction. 

The Peggy Stewart House, close to the Naval 
Academy, is the spot made notable by the fact 
that there Peggy watched her husband, Anthony, 
set fire to his brig with his own hands as a peace 
offering to his enraged townsfolk. For he had 
come to port of an October day in 1764, laden 
with tea — and tea was not being drunk in the 
Colonies then. 

Idling along we found ourselves at the end 
of Main Street, where an arm of the harbour 
came up to a little round park in the middle of 

H-87-«- 



ANNAPOLIS 

which was a well curb, with the dates 1649-1708 
cut into the stone. But though we asked several 
passersby, no one knew what they signified. 
Later we found that it was here that ten families 
of persecuted Puritans, crossing the Potomac to 
the Severn side, built huts, taking advantage of 
the Toleration Act, the glory of Maryland under 
Governor Stone. So part of the date was ac- 
counted for. It was in 1608 that that intrepid 
discoverer, Captain John Smith, first sailed up 
Chesapeake Bay — perhaps we had misread the 
second date. 

Close to the park is the fish market, and if 
there is anything more worth seeing than a fish 
market, why, I remarked to Sister, bring it on. 
There, in shining rows and heaps lay the flashing 
catch of the sea. Heaped in baskets were oysters 
— Annapolis has a big trade in oysters, packing 
away barrel upon barrel of the famous Chesa- 
peakes. Salty men hung about, wearing battered 
hats and blue shirts, and mumbled to each other, 
indifferent to the rest of the world, as is the 
fashion of elderly sailor- and fishing-folk. Beyond 
extended the wharves and docks, crowded with 
small boats and smacks. Dogs lay in the sun, and 
small brown children played about. 

Not far away was a place that had a sign out, 
Sea Food. To that spot we went in haste, and 
presently the oysters were proving their worth 

.-^88-^- 



ANNAPOLIS 

to us. Oh, the poor, tasteless creatures eaten in 
the white glare of Broadway! The pitiful apolo- 
gies that lie, tame and spiritless, on beautiful 
china in the rich hostelries of Fifth Avenue. More 
terrible still, those flaccid canned abominations 
of the West. 

"Ha!" I said, as we ordered more. And 
" Yes," responded Sister. 

" I wonder if the cadets get oysters hke these? " 
I went on, as time passed gently along. " Fit 
reward for all their hard work. Why couldn't 
we have met a cadet, and asked him questions of 
importance, questions that must be unanswered 
for all time. There must be a good deal to 
Annapohs besides history and training. But you 
have to be a resident to find it." 

" While at present we are more like the Walrus 
and the Carpenter," said Sister. " Have you had 
enough? " 

Once again we resumed our lazy tour of the 
town. We didn't want to miss seeing Carvel 
Hall, the old Paca homestead, and now a hotel. 
It is a five minute walk from the fish market, 
on Prince George Street, and as soon as we saw 
it we wished that we were to spend a long while 
in Annapolis, and that Carvel Hall were to be 
our headquarters. Here the mothers and sisters 
of graduating students come, and from it go 
joyous girls to the dances at the Academy. 



ANNAPOLIS 

William Paca was one of the governors of Mary- 
land as well as a Signer of the Declaration, but 
splendid as might have been his other attainments, 
he never did anything finer than the building of 
this house, with its two wings, its air of gracious 
welcome and warm dignity, a house that has an 
unforgettable personahty aside from its sheer 
beauty. The very wall that guards it from the 
street is a work of art. 

Annapolis' oldest church is St. Anne, on a 
circle of its own west of the State Houses. It 
is a queer, long, low structure with a pointed 
spire, dull in colour but well overgrown with ivy. 
The present building is the third reconstruction 
of the original, finished in 1700, and three times 
damaged by fire. They tell a story in Annapolis 
of how the bell given by Queen Anne rang its 
own knell during the first fire, weirdly and un- 
accountably tolling its death song. This story 
and the Communion Set, bearing the arms of 
William III., and the date 1695, are the most 
interesting things about the old building to-day. 
Once a graveyard enclosed it, but the buried have 
been removed. St. Anne's is also noted as being 
the first missionary meeting place in America; 
the heathen to be converted being no other than 
the Quakers of Pennsylvania! 

CarroUton is now owned by the Catholics and 
used, we were told, as a monastery. It stands 

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ANNAPOLIS 

hidden by St. Mary's Catholic Church, and no 
nearer view than that from the bridge across the 
river could be had, a mere glimpse. But the 
river was worth looking at, and so was the outline 
of the town, mounting to the dome of the State 
House, and holding, near or far, a remarkable 
quality of statehness, a something not modern 
at all. 

*' And in all the httle city," remarked Sister, 
" there is not one shabby spot, not a minute of 
disorder or decay. Fresh and clean it is as this 
shining water and sweet as the sea wind. It has 
all that's best in being old and nothing that is 
not best." 

You could not walk a street that did not have 
something worth notice on it. On our way back 
to Church Circle to take the car we turned into 
little Charles Street to look at the quaint gable-end 
house and printing office where Jonas Green lived 
and published the Maryland Gazette, founded by 
him in 1745, the first in the colony. And as the 
car was not yet due we took the few steps that 
separate Church from State Circle to gaze 
upon the old Governor's Mansion, new for 
Annapolis, being built in 1867, but an attractive 
place standing in flower-planted grounds and 
finely shaded, like the rest of the city. 

The sun was setting in purple and gold as we 
turned back to the car line. From the direction 

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ANNAPOLIS 

of the Naval Academy came a faint echo of music, 
then the boom of a gun. The day was over. 

" We have seen the most perfect town Colonial 
America produced," said Sister. 

" And the Flag Room at the Academy," said I. 



92 



CHAPTER IV 

Princeton 

You do not have to ask your way to the 
University. Its splendour reaches right to the 
railway station; in fact, before getting there we 
had been gazing out on Brokaw Athletic Field 
and beautiful facades of low, long, gracious 
buildings built of grey stone, the skyline broken 
now and again by square, battlemented towers. 
The very dream of a University was here before 
us, real and solid, concreted from men's ideals 
and wishes and devotion. Coming from the 
smaller, more ancient William and Mary, from 
the chaste harmony of the University of Virginia 
and the sharp if fine efficiency of Annapohs, 
Princeton spread before us with an effect of 
vasteness and intricacy, a great city devoted to 
learning, a place where youth came in thousands 
rather than hundreds, and to a life far more 
complicated than that led by the students in the 
two Southern seats of study, or in the Academy 
where every effort was pointed to a single aim. 
"This — why, it's tremendous!" exclaimed 
Sister. 

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PRINCETON 

Following the advice of interested friends we 
did not immediately enter the University grounds, 
but travelled down University Place to Nassau 
Street, and by that thoroughfare to the Fitz 
Randolph Gate, directly before old Nassau Hall, 
the original college building. For there is nothing 
like beginning right, even when, as at Princeton, 
you couldn't go wrong in your sight seeing. 

There is a dehghtful touch of sentiment in 
regard to this magnificent Gateway. For it was 
given to the University by Augustus Van Wickle, 
whose ancestor, Nathaniel Fitz Randolph, was the 
donor of the ground on which stands Nassau 
Hall, built in 1756. The Gate itself was put up 
in 1905. Its tall main towers, flanked by smaller 
ones, the fine wrought iron of gates and fence, 
the massive foundation of granite, give just the 
right impression of steadfastness and balance; a 
fit entrance to a great institution. 

Nassau Hall possesses above all that quality 
and dignity inhering to the best architecture of 
its period. The tall, slender cupola and belfry 
rise above the wide spread of the wings and the 
beautifully conceived central portion with a fine 
upspringing effect. The arch of the door and 
of the great window above it are excellently 
planned to aid in this combination of strength 
with uplift. The building is worthy of its historic 
interest. 

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PRINCETON 

The grass of the Front Campus with its pattern- 
ing of paths, the new-leafed elms and the thick- 
growing ivy over the Hall added their loveliness 
to the picture before us. Here too the finger of 
war had sketched its hne of colour; a group of 
students in khaki were marching round to the 
left of the building, not in formation, but evi- 
dently hastening to some drill. Arms over each 
others' shoulders, comrades chatted together, 
bound in the new service more closely than even 
by college ties. Old Princeton has always been 
eager in her country's cause; we saw plenty of 
signs that to-day no less than yesterday her sons 
were patriots. 

Nassau Hall, as we find in an old document 
pubhshed in 1764s by the Trustees of the college, 
was named in honour of King Wilham, " that 
great deliverer of Britain, and assertor of 
Protestant liberty." Here the whole student 
body was housed, three in a room, and here was 
the library and a hall, " of genteel workman- 
ship, being a square of near forty feet, with a 
neatly finished front gallery." The architect 
was Robert Smith, of Philadelphia. 

It has had its vicissitudes. During the Revo- 
lution both British and Colonial armies used it 
as a barracks, and pretty well destroyed that 
genteel interior, and two fires, one in 1802 and 
the other in 1855, swept through it, burning the 

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PRINCETON 

library and doing further damage. But the stout 
walls withstood both flame and army, and are 
now little changed from their original appearance; 
slight alterations in the fa9ade, such as the removal 
of the two additional entrances it once possessed, 
and the raising of the cupola, summing up any- 
thing of importance in outward change. And 
both are improvements. 

To-day the old building is used for the adminis- 
trative offices, Faculty rooms and such business 
necessities. 

Back in 1783, from late in June to early 
November, as the Revolution was reaching its 
end, Nassau Hall was the seat of the Congress 
of the new Nation, and here Washington came 
frequently to confer on state affairs. Here too 
he was tendered the thanks of Congress for his 
great services, and here, with splendid pomp, the 
first Ambassador accredited to the Republic, 
Pieter J. Van Berckel, from Holland, was re- 
ceived. The room where Congress sat has now 
vanished into air — for the main hall, in the central 
part of the building, is now two stories high, 
lending it a fine spaciousness, but cutting away 
the upper chamber where the august body met. 

We walked up into the gallery to look at some 
of the portraits, among them the Peale portrait 
of Washington, painted from life in 1784. When 
the canvas arrived at the college the Trustees 

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PRINCETON 

hung it in the frame of "the picture of the late 
King of Great Britain, which was torn away by 
a ball from the American artillery in the battle 
of Princeton." Rather a neat job the ball made 
of it, for the frame is untouched, and fitly em- 
bellishes the large canvas, with Washington, 
looking remarkably young and plump of face, 
occupying the foreground and waving his sword 
toward the tumultuous scene of Princeton Battle, 
with a view of Nassau Hall in the dim distance. 
A wounded youth is engaging the attention of 
two men close behind the General — but everyone 
is very calm and elegant about the whole affair. 
You might spend a week or a month, or perhaps 
the whole four years of the college curriculum 
learning the history of Nassau Hall. A faint 
breath of other ages hangs about the noble rooms, 
softly lighted by the many ivy -hung windows. 
At nine o'clock, from the belfry top of the old 
tower, curfew still chimes, unheeded but not 
unheard. And on the steps, flanked by the two 
bronze lions, when the evenings turn, the Seniors 
gather to sing, after the old custom, and it is 
on these same steps that they group themselves, 
in carefully unstudied attitudes, for the last class 
photograph — packed pretty tight these days, when 
Princeton has grown so huge. On these steps, 
too, the honourary degrees to distinguished men 
are conferred. In the Hall itself Lafayette was 

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PRINCETON 

honoured with the degree of Doctor of Laws by- 
President Witherspoon. Nassau is in truth the 
very heart of Princeton, the centre of the college 
tradition, the beloved and beautiful pile to which 
the memory of each graduate returns at the anni- 
versaries of his Commencement. 

" It's a great sight to see the alumni in all 
their crazy get-ups," said a friend who took it on 
himself to give us a birds-eye view of the Univer- 
sity. " But this year it will all be different. The 
men who come will wear khaki, or else make no 
alteration in their customary and conventional ap- 
pearance. So many of our men have already gone 
from here to war, so many belong to the battalion 
or the aviation corps, and so many of our alumni 
have also joined the colours that Princeton is 
more like a military college than a great lay 
University this year. Many of the men from 
the Junior Class are going too, and will probably 
never come back for their last year here — I tell 
you, war hits the colleges pretty hard ! " 

Our guide was himself in khaki, and constantly, 
as we wandered on along the paths and between 
the buildings, other soldierly figures hailed him, 
nodded, saluted, or simply grinned. The Orange 
and Black of the University had yielded to the 
dun hue of America's service; it seemed to us that 
the whole of Princeton had mobilised. 

" There'll be a lot of us thinking of the old 
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PRINCETON 

place next September," concluded the man who 
was so graciously giving us his morning. 

The college buildings are beautifully placed 
upon the wide-flung grounds, so green, so 
exquisitely cared for, so nobly shaded by elms. 
Charming vistas lead the eye under arched open- 
ings or through great spans to further lawns, or 
give on a sudden wonderful glimpse of square 
tower or Gothic fa9ade. Now you walk close 
under the windows of the dormitories, open to 
the spring sun and showing just a hint of the 
life within; now you confront a splendid flight of 
steps, or pause to delight in some particularly 
absurd gargoyle, lost in an eternally humourous 
abstraction from the merely human existences that 
eddy past it. 

We passed the University Offices, an old build- 
ing where the two famous societies, the American 
Whig and the Cliosophic, housed back in the first 
years of the nineteenth century. 

As everybody knows, these literary societies 
of Princeton, known commonly as the Halls, 
are almost as old as the college itself. They 
met in Nassau Hall before the building of 
this separate house in 1803, which was meant to 
be used for a variety of purposes besides those 
of the two societies. In 1838 each society built 
a house for itself, since pulled down to be replaced 
by the beautiful Ionic structures that stand in 



PRINCETON 

white and classic elegance fronting the quadrangle 
behind Nassau Hall, whose corner stones were 
laid during the 1890 Commencement, that of 
Clio Hall by President Patton, and that of Whig 
by ex-President McCosh. 

These societies are unique among college under- 
graduate activities, and they have been and still 
are the most important single influence brought 
to bear on the intellectual Hfe of the students. 
They have weathered all sorts of storms, and 
have managed to survive the dangerous competi- 
tion of the Fraternities that promised at one time 
to become a dominant factor in Princeton's exist- 
ence. It was Dr. McCosh who conquered these 
Fraternities, the great McCosh, who was so similar 
to Princeton's earher great man, Witherspoon, 
both in character and in the tremendous effect he 
had upon Princeton's growth. There are strange 
coincidences that the Princetonian likes to relate 
concerning these two Presidents of the University. 
They came to rule the college just a hundred 
years apart, the one in 1768, the other in 1868, 
each working there for twenty-six years until his 
death, Witherspoon on November 15, 1794, and 
McCosh a century and a day later. But this was 
not all. Both were Scots from the Lowlands, 
both University of Edinburgh men, each a min- 
ister of the Church of Scotland, and important 
in its history. Witherspoon was more widely 

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PRINCETON 

interested in the affairs of the Nation he made 
his own, an active worker in the cause of freedom, 
and a member of the Continental Congress, and 
a Signer of the Declaration. But he had a tre- 
mendous influence on the University and a strong 
effect on the men who worked with him. His 
administration marked a long forward step in 
the curriculum, as did that of Dr. McCosh. 
McCosh also did a tremendous amount in im- 
proving the campus and adding to the college 
buildings. 

One of these Presidents carried Princeton 
through the Revolution, the other came soon after 
the end of the Civil War. Princeton suffered 
greatly in both wars, her sons being among the 
first to rush to the colours; in the Revolution the 
tide of battle swept over her ; while the Southerners, 
who had numbered many among her student body, 
naturally deserted her after their years of bitter 
fighting. Witherspoon had had to rebuild an 
almost wrecked institution, McCosh to reconstruct 
one that was immensely weakened. 

Sister and I had been listening to much of 
this history as we walked across the quadrangle 
toward the Halls. In the centre of this Quad 
is the famous cannon, standing with its long 
muzzle buried in the ground. This is the Big 
Cannon, and was left behind by both American 
and British forces, because of a broken car- 



PRINCETON 

riage, in the historic days of 1777. During the 
war of 1812 it was taken to New Brunswick, 
but never used there, being considered unsafe. 
Princeton finally got it back, and in 1838 it was 
taken to the college grounds, and planted in its 
present position two years afterwards. Here 
the excitements of undergraduate life have their 
whirling centre. Here the great bonfires blaze, 
and here is the scene of the Freshman- Sophomore 
Rush, on the evening of the day when they begin 
their term. 

" It only lasts three minutes, that scramble, but 
it's a winner," remarked our guide. " More 
happens in those three minutes round that old 
cannon than you could tell of in three years! 
And I've never known a rush yet where each 
side doesn't claim — and prove — that it has won." 

Nothing could look more peaceful and remote 
from struggle than the quadrangle on a day in 
May, however. The men who were passing were 
all intent on some one or more of the thousand 
activities of the busy undergraduate hfe, that 
grows so intense before Commencement. We 
could not tell one classman from another, and 
certainly not one among them appeared to have 
so much as three minutes to spare for anything 
so frivolous as to get to, or to prevent some one 
else from getting to the old cannon. 

" There is another cannon between Cho and 
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PRINCETON 

Whig, and it's had its own Revolutionary history, 
and stirred up some excitement in its time," we 
were told. " We call it the Little Cannon. It 
is the one the Rutgers fellows stole one night from 
the corner of Nassau and Witherspoon, where it 
had been partly buried for years. They thought 
that the Princeton men had got it from them. 
This rescue, as they considered it, didn't occur 
till twenty-five years after they had missed their 
own brass piece, and the whole of Princeton was 
roaring mad when they found what had happened. 
A party of students went over to New Brunswick, 
broke into the museum and carted away some old 
muskets, but couldn't find the cannon. In the 
end, when Princeton was able to prove that the 
cannon had been hers ever since the Revolution, 
we got it back, and buried it in concrete, as you 
see." 

We did indeed. It would take a yoke of 
mastodons to haul the piece away now. 

" And what had become of the brass cannon 
belonging to Rutgers?" asked Sister. 

But there seems to be no answer to that ques- 
tion, at any rate in Princeton. 

It is difficult to get consecutive information 
from an undergraduate. But we managed to 
dig up something more regarding the particular 
features of the two Halls. The men who join 
the Halls are those who are particularly inter- 



PRINCETON 

ested in debating, in writing, in oratory, who have 
the forensic gifts and who want to follow the 
courses in public speaking that are conducted by 
the Department of English for Hall men, and 
are part of the Freshman curriculum. The old 
days when the whole student body was divided 
between the Halls, and competition ran high, are 
gone forever. Once the campaigning for members 
between the two Halls was much more important 
than the " bickering " among the clubs, of which 
more later. And before the day of the " Lit " the 
only literary expression open to the students was 
through one of these two literary societies. 

" But the Halls are still a tremendous factor 
at Princeton, and probably they always will be," 
said our student. " The men recognise their value, 
and then certain prizes and medals are open to 
Hall competitors only. The Halls keep their 
distinction and they give a man a fine training, 
especially if he means to go into politics or the 
law. Then they are entirely democratic, and there 
isn't a college or a University in the country that's 
more democratic than Princeton. A man stands 
on his own merits here. He is just as likely to 
be on the Senior Council if he's working his way 
through college as if he has all the money in 
the world to burn, and it's the same in the clubs 
and the athletics. The life here tends to it, and 
the traditions are all for it. The men all live 

-h 104 4- 



PRINCETON 

in the dormitories and eat at the clubs, that are 
just an outgrowth of the old commons. And 
there isn't any splurging here to speak of — 
mighty few of the men own automobiles, and as 
there isn't any city close by, there aren't any 
great temptations for spending." 

We sauntered back across the quadrangle to- 
ward West College, with its bright window faces 
and busy store, the oldest of the dormitories, 
built in 1836, with Reunion beyond. Comfortable 
structures, each housing some eighty men. Be- 
tween the two a path leads to Alexander Hall, a 
florid looking building with a high peaked gable 
and sharp pointed towers and altogether too much 
patterning of granite and brownstone. This is 
where the Commencement and Class Day exercises 
are held, the public lectures and similar affairs. 
The inside is mostly given up to the auditorium, 
which is said to be particularly well planned. It 
is very splendid with mosaics and marbles. 

We spent little time here: its life is dormant 
during the usual run of college days: but we 
walked on toward Blair Hall, that confronted 
us like some picture by Maxfield Parrish, ex- 
tending its white splendour on toward Little and 
the New Gymnasium in an almost unbroken 
Gothic line. The white path sweeps up to the 
huge central tower and through the pointed arch, 
after flinging abroad two arms that lead to either 

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PRINCETON 

side, running along the two-storied wings, with 
their charming balconies and the smaller arches 
of their doors and windows. Four round corner 
towers buttress and climb above the mighty square 
of that central portion, rising solidly to twice the 
height of the wings. Seen beyond the fresh 
green boughs of young trees, the effect is mar- 
vellously inspiring. 

Through the arch, terraces and steps lead you 
out from the University to the station, but we 
were by no means ready to take that way yet. 

We turned to the left and passed between 
Blair and the distressing but very comfortable 
mid- Victorian aspect of Witherspoon, along by 
Little and the New Gym. It is difficult to give 
an impression of this noble group. Seen from the 
train it takes the eye at once, with its irregular 
towers and the agreeable hue of the stone from 
which it is built, but approached afoot amid all 
the green charm of the campus it is as fine an 
aspect as America holds. The Gym is called the 
best building for its purpose in the country, and 
the taste with which the Gymnasium and dormi- 
tories have been made to harmonise with and en- 
hance each other is excellent. 

" I don't wonder that Princeton men have a 
tremendous loyalty," • I remarked. " The life 
here is framed with such dignity, and it is so self- 
contained. You don't need to go outside the 

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PRINCETON 

University limits to find all you can wish for. 
Most colleges and universities are dependent to 
more or less extent on the city or the town that 
surrounds and holds them. The students will 
be scattered all over in boarding houses, or go to 
various favourite places for their meals. But I 
should think a Princeton man might easily forget 
there was any outside at all." 

" That's the way to talk," agreed our smiling 
guide, complacently. " And at that, I don't 
know but you're exactly right." 

There are outside dormitories, however, he 
explained. Upper and Lower Pyne, on Nassau 
Street, facing the front campus, being beyond the 
University enclosure. Nevertheless, they belong 
to the University and are built to harmonise with 
the Gothic quahty of the newer part of Princeton, 
and are fascinating in aspect, with their over- 
hanging upper stories, and their red slate roofs, 
that accentuate the warm tone of the brick; 
their chestnut beams and cross-pieces giving them 
the look of houses in some quaint English town. 
Hill Dormitory, close to the station, is the one 
privately owned dwelling place, and a handsome 
building. Possibly there are others, though we 
heard of none beside. 

" It seems like walking through a park to 
wander about this series of campuses and quad- 
rangles," Sister remarked. " The lovely slopes 



PRINCETON 

and broad reaches, the spreading trees and shrub- 
bery, the sense of space, and all these beautifully 
related but uncrowded buildings. The place itself 
is uncrowded too, isn't it. With so many students 
here it seems strange that we see only a few 
groups and scattered individuals — where are they 
all? Why aren't they round, enjoying it this 
spring morning? " 

" Morning's the time we stick about inside, 
working. You know, work is part of the business 
of being here! Yes indeed. And Princeton has 
a mighty fine rep as a working man's home. 
Times past there was a lot of loafing, and a 
* poler ' was in for a good deal of criticism. But 
it's different now. The honour system and the 
preceptorial method have had a lot to do with the 
change, I guess. I don't mean that there isn't 
a heap of larking, and of course we are strong 
for athletics, but men study here quite unashamed 
nowadays, and the biggest athlete may be an 
honour man — and often is." 

Princeton is genuinely athletic. That is to say, 
practically every one of her students goes in for 
some form of athletics. With the Freshmen it is 
obligatory. They have to become swimmers, and 
the Department of Hygiene and Physical Educa- 
tion generally keeps a cautious and guiding atten- 
tion upon them. Then are countless ball teams 
and soccer teams, tennis experts, golfers, and 

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PRINCETON 

what not of active exponents of good health by- 
way of outdoor or indoor sports and games and 
contests. In the afternoon we saw any number of 
sprinting youths about the grounds — everywhere 
except on the front campus, which by some 
unwritten law, is never used for athletic purposes 
— swatting and catching balls and variously dis- 
porting themselves. Golden Field with its tennis 
courts was crowded. But the war has had an 
effect on even this playing among the under- 
grads. The drilling takes too many of them, and 
then there are to be no intercollegiate games this 
year, with all the training they enforce. But the 
great swimming tank in the Gymnasium retains 
its popularity. We saw an unending stream pour- 
ing into the building, and were told " They are 
in for a swim." 

" I can't help a selfish joy that I haven't a son 
near college age this terrible year," whispered 
Sister, later on in the day, when we sat watching 
the drilhng on Brokaw Field. "Look at that 
wonderful sight, all those splendid youngsters, 
and think that perhaps a name carved in bronze 
will be all that's left of many of them a few 
months hence. And this very minute they are 
drilhng back there in the Stadium at the Uni- 
versity of Virginia, and companies are forming 
at William and Mary. And all our colleges are 
telling the same story of gallant eagerness. It's 

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PRINCETON 

wonderful and beautiful, but ..." she stopped, 
and I saw tears in her eyes. 

But let us get back to the walk we were taking, 
and which was now leading us past the pleasing 
severity of Edwards Hall, once known as " Polers' 
Paradise," another dormitory, named after Presi- 
dent Jonathan Edwards and built in 1880, and 
the Italian charms of ivy-grown Dod Hall, ten 
years younger, given by Mrs. David Brown in 
memory of her brother, Albert B. Dod, a professor 
of mathematics at Princeton for many years. 
Beyond is the Art Museum, an interesting struc- 
ture of handsome brick with a terra cotta frieze 
across the front, a copy of part of the Parthenon 
decoration. 

" It's full of jars and pots and vases and 
plates," said our student, somewhat apprehen- 
sively. "We can go in later; but I think now 
we'd better get through with the buildings, as 
lunch is coming on." We agreed with him, as 
we had an engagement to eat at the Princeton 
Inn which we by no means wanted to miss. As 
for the pots and dishes, it was a disrespectful 
manner of alluding to the world famous Trum- 
bull-Pyne collection of pottery and porcelain, the 
finest of its kind in the country, dating back to 
the dim ages of Egypt and reaching by many 
paths and expressions to the later work of all 
the European countries, nor overlooking the 

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PRINCETON 

Orient, nor yet South America. We meant to 
return and enjoy it, but did not. 

" Which only proves once again," I admonished 
Sister, as we realised this later, and beyond reach, 
" that ' Do it Now ' should be our college motto." 

" But if you'd seen them you'd have felt you 
ought to write about them, and who wants to read 
of china and pottery? See it, or don't see it; but 
never talk of it." 

So perhaps our loss is another's gain. 

Dodge and Murray and the Marquand Chapel 
were the next group, and the religious centre of 
the University. Henry G. Marquand of New 
York, whose grim pale face as Sargent portrays 
it we had so often looked upon in the Metropolitan 
Museum, donated the chapel, built of brownstone 
with a slender tower. In it are some fine windows, 
several designed by the late Francis Lathrop, a 
connection of ours by marriage. We looked on 
them with admiration, and an obscure feeling that 
they gave us at least a tiny claim on the place. 
There are many beautiful things on which to look 
in this chapel; other windows, those by La Farge 
being visions of rich colour, the rose windows, 
Louis C. Tiffany's work, and some particularly 
fine reliefs. Both Louis and Augustus St. 
Gaudens are represented, the latter with a mag- 
nificent bas-relief of President McCosh. 

We stepped out from the rich medley of 



PRINCETON 

colour to the whiteness of the day with ahnost a 
shock. Across the roadway are the two halls, 
Dodge and Murray, in the Gothic style that 
Princeton has gradually made her architectural 
expression. They are joined by an ambulatory, 
and are the home of the Philadelphian Society, 
an undergraduate organisation for promoting the 
religious activities and interests of the students. 
It is the oldest college religious organisation 
in America, having been founded in 1825, 
child of the Nassau Bible Society. The two 
buildings contain rooms for the different 
classes and a hbrary and reading room and 
auditorium. 

The entrance to Prospect, the President's 
gardens and house, is almost opposite and we 
looked across at their charming extent with 
interest. Prospect slopes upward, with fine 
terraces, and the house is old as houses go, dating 
from 1849. But where it now stands stood once 
the stone farmhouse of Colonel George Morgan, 
pioneer and explorer and Indian Agent in Revo- 
lutionary times. On his broad lawns the Dela- 
ware Indians pitched their tepees when they came 
to visit their friend, leaving behind them three 
of their young sons, in order that these might 
acquire the wisdom of the white men. One of 
them got into college, at least, but he gave it up 
finally and went back to his tribe. The old house 

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PRINCETON 

that was used by the President before Prospect 
was taken over for the purpose is now the Dean's 
house, and an exquisite example of Colonial archi- 
tecture. It was built in the same year with 
Nassau Hall and stands near it. Here all the 
Presidents from Burr to McCosh lived and here 
three of them died. 

McCosh Walk, with its tree-boughs meeting far 
overhead in true pointed Gothic style, runs from 
the gate to Prospect on out to the Washington 
Street exit. It is the sort of walk that would 
have been welcomed by the Annapohs cadet who 
mourned the absence in the Academy of any 
" quiet nooks." Shadowy and not too wide, with- 
drawn somewhat from the more rushing and 
active aspects of college life, it has possibiUties 
that are perhaps recognised. 

Just before you reach Washington Street you 
pass the Magnetic Observatory, that hasn't a nail 
or piece of iron in its construction. Beyond it is 
the attractive brick building called Seventy-Nine 
Hall, the gift of the class of that year. It holds 
to the collegiate Gothic note but strikes a new and 
individual colour scheme, with its rosy-hued brick 
and sandstone. 

We walked up Washington Street to the 
Scientific and Chemical Buildings and swung 
back toward the heart of Princeton, the quad- 
rangle, for we had not yet more than glanced 



PRINCETON 

at the University Library, which takes up the 
eastern side of that beautiful square. Here are 
again the square towers and Gothic fa9ades, the 
charming, whimsical carvings and the pointed 
arches that will always mean Princeton to an 
American, however English their derivation. 
McCosh Hall, which we spent some time study- 
ing later, is crowded with these fantastic bits. 
Here are owls in cap and gown, marvellous little 
policemen and college authorities fiercely strug- 
gling with frantic, woe-begone students. We even 
found a chauffeur in the attitude, if not the 
actuality, of dizzy speed, and a determined crea- 
ture pointing a relentless camera. 

"It must be fun to go to lectures and pre- 
ceptorial conferences in a place like that," Sister 
thought, as we sauntered along the fa9ade, hun- 
dreds of feet long, that is one time to enclose the 
whole square behind the Chapel, we were told. 
And the building, singularly beautiful, certainly 
has a chuckle to it too. 

The library is really two libraries, the Chan- 
cellor Greene and the New, the latter a Sesqui- 
centennial gift from Mrs. Percy Rivington 
Pyne. 

The two are connected by a passage that holds 
the card indices and delivery desk. The old 
library is now the workroom for the under- 
graduate body, a huge octagonal. The new and 



PRINCETON 

large building is a hollow square, splendidly 
equipped and furnished. 

When we were little children we had often 
delighted in the visits of Laurence Hutton to 
our house, and we even had indistinct recollections 
of having seen some of his great collection of 
death masks. We knew them to be here, with 
other collections of interest. 

There is a fascination about a death mask that 
is compelling. Here, no stiller than the model 
from which they were taken, were the faces of 
Newton, of Burns, of Robert Bruce, of our own 
Franklin, of Wordsworth. The mask of Dean 
Swift is the only one in existence, and was happily 
discovered by Hutton in an old London shop, 
among some discarded rubbish. Altogether there 
are over seventy of these relics. 

There are many more buildings that tempt you 
to keep on exploring, to turn down this alluring 
pathway, go through a vaulted archway, climb 
a long slope. After our young guide had to 
leave us we found another magnificent group up 
beyond Blair, with the fine Holder Tower domi- 
nating the solemn appeal of the dormitories, 
Campbell and Hamilton. Cloisters, courts where 
grew great trees, vaulted passages, leaded win- 
dow panes, and always that superb tower with 
its upthrusting pinnacles — what a world of 
beauty ! 



PRINCETON 

But before he left us he took us along Prospect 
Avenue to the Athletic Field. It is along this 
handsome avenue that the clubs that are so 
characteristic of Princeton are ranged. 

" They are eating clubs first and last," we 
were told. " There are rooms in most of them 
where alumni members can sleep, but the under- 
grads aren't allowed to put up in them. You 
won't see much life in any of them except at 
meal hours and for awhile in the evening, when 
maybe some one sets a phonograph going, or some 
of the fellows want a game of bridge or billiards. 
No drinks to be had in them." 

They are upper class clubs, and the elections 
are controlled by a committee of undergraduate 
club members and another of the Faculty. These 
elections take place in February from the Sopho- 
more class, but they can not enjoy club privileges 
till the following September, when they come 
back to the University as Juniors. 

There is a great deal of competition between 
the clubs when it comes to choosing the new 
members, and there have been times in the bad 
old days when complaints, sad or furious, were 
justified. But to-day the system is as fair as it 
is possible to make anything merely human. This 
is about the way things are done: 

On February 23 the period of bickering starts 
in. Then the club members do all that human 



PRINCETON 

eloquence may accomplish to snare the desirable 
Sophomore. These Sophs are chosen to be 
members of a " section " and any man who accepts 
election to a section signs a pledge that he will 
join that particular unit, and these acceptances 
are published. Each section numbers from fifteen 
to twenty men, but there may be many others 
chosen, as no limit is placed on the number of 
new members. 

A short period only is allowed for bickering, 
and at its close only a week is given to the 
elections, during which formal invitations to join 
the club are sent to the Sophomores in the sec- 
tions, and to any others the club wants. A 
Soph who has joined a section can decline the 
formal invitation, but then he is not permitted to 
join any other club for another year. This makes 
it impossible for juggling to take place. Before 
the bickering period it is an offense against the 
rules for an upperclassman to do anything that 
might be construed as an approach to an un- 
derclassman; a rule that applies to graduate 
members also. This system seems to be working 
well. 

" Naturally there are men who will be sore 
at results, and there is jealousy between the clubs 
to some extent, but that can't be avoided. They 
aren't snobbish, however. Close to half the men 
who are working their way through are club 

-h 117 -!- 



PRINCETON 

members, and as the clubs are always on the 
edge of debt, there are no non-paying members. 
These men have to work for their club dues as 
well as their college expenses. The meals served 
are simple, and there isn't much inside luxury to 
be found in any of the clubs, fine buildings as 
some of them are." 

So said our guide. And the look of the charm- 
ing houses in their pretty grounds amply justified 
the adjective. They are sufficiently various in 
architecture, but they all have an attractive look 
of home. The Ivy Club is the oldest, organised 
as it was in 1879, and a better looking home would 
be hard to find anywhere. 

As we came back along the avenue, after an 
admiring glance over the immaculate greenness 
of the Athletic Field, with its white-tracked dia- 
mond, its grandstand, having a clock in the tower, 
the " cage " for indoor practice, the Field House, 
where the men dress and showers are installed, we 
met the club members hurrying along to luncheon. 
It was a jolly sight, and judging from the eager- 
ness and speed shown appetites are good at 
Princeton. 

" But you ought to see the Field when there's 
a big game on," our guide was saying. " You 
saw how big it is — half a dozen football or base- 
ball games could be going on at the same time. 
Well, it will be packed, and the flags, the colour, 

-^118-^- 



PRINCETON 

the rushing about to get settled, the yells and 
cheers — tell you what, it's great! " 

There were other college happenings that we 
were earnestly told shouldn't be missed, if you 
wanted a real idea of Princeton. The Cane Spree, 
for instance, held under a large yellow autumn 
moon on the ground between Wither spoon and 
Alexander; and the Senior parade on St. Patrick's 
Day, which is a formal notice that spring is 
admitted to the campus, and is a joyous demon- 
stration in which floats, transparencies, costumes, 
flights of sarcasm on college events, skits and com- 
ments of all sorts, not only on the undergraduate, 
but on the world at large, have full swing. 

Then there are the straining days of the mid- 
year exams, with midnight oil burning into the 
small hours, and the sudden outbreak of " Poler's 
recess," when, at the ringing of curfew from the 
belfry of Nassau Hall, windows are suddenly 
flung open and a mad din of toots, howls, bangs 
and pandemonium generally breaks forth, to last 
a few minutes and then cease with startling 
abruptness. 

Yes, the life of a student at Princeton is full 
of variety, and besides the interests here hinted 
at, there are scores more; clubs of all kinds for 
hterary, musical and other pursuits, honours to be 
fought for, all the fun on beautiful Carnegie Lake, 
that used to be a dismal swamp and is now a 

-^119-^-• 



PRINCETON 

bright and useful sheet of water and a delight in 
the landscape. 

At lunch we were told something of the honour 
system, now ruling the examinations, inspired by 
those in vogue in the Southern colleges, and in 
effect since 1893. Of the Preceptorial Method, 
by which a close contact is kept between the 
students and their instructors, the preceptors dis- 
cussing with the students at informal meetings 
the reading they are to do. These conferences 
between instructor and student have proved a 
great success, and are now an important and 
integral part of the Princeton system. 

Off toward the golf links we were shown the 
stately buildings of the Graduate College with 
the Cleveland Tower rearing its graceful height 
and lofty pinnacles against the sky, and we began 
to feel that there was no end to Princeton. 

" You need a month to get a mere impression 
of the place," Sister declared. 

A kindly automobile driven by an old resident 
whirled us about the town, if town it may be 
called. To be sure, it is growing fast— the tre- 
mendous interests of the University draw more 
and more to its ancient ways. But it is so green 
and so scattered, with so many fine old places 
holding their spacious grounds inviolate, that 
there is very little town crowding. Opposite the 
Fitz Randolph gate the old and now much- 



PRINCETON 

changed Nassau Hotel, familiarly called old Nass 
by the students who haunt its restaurant, takes 
up a large portion of the street. Nearer the centre 
of the town is Princeton Inn, surrounded by a 
pretty park. And many new buildings are pointed 
out with pride to the visitor. 

But we preferred the glimpses of the ancient 
houses that date back to the days when Princeton 
was the centre of the country's activities, at least 
in a political sense: the old house with its 
charming upper veranda where Washington had 
his headquarters, up on Stony Hill; the house 
of Thomas Clarke, where the bloodstains that 
drained from the dying Mercer are shown you — 
it is your own fault if you can't make them out. 
In front of the house is a bronze tablet on a 
granite block to the General's memory. 

Beautiful Morven, dating back to 1701, once 
the headquarters of Lord Howe, and the Bar- 
racks, where Richard Stockton was born, of an 
equal age, a simple stone building of fine propor- 
tions and with end chimneys, and the Old Mill, 
whose wheels still turn to the murmuring flow of 
Stony Brook, close to the unusually beautiful 
Old Bridge, each drew from us the adjectives of 
praise. And of course we were whirled out 
to gaze over the battle field. Here it was that 
Washington, failing to rally the disorganised 
troops under Mercer, who was lying dying on 

-e-12H- 



PRINCETON 

the field, rode out in front, under the terrific 
fire of the enemy, and sat immovable, facing the 
foe. Colonel Fitzgerald, who loved him, drew 
his hat down over his eyes that he might not see 
him die. But the appeal was sufficient, and the 
tide of war was changed. 

In this year of renewed war against tyranny 
it was a soul-stirring thing to sit and look over 
the growing fields and hear that story. 

We were struck by the fact that Princeton 
favours giving names to its estates, and that you 
go from Tusculum, built by President Wither- 
spoon in 1773, looking like some noble English 
country house, to Avalon, with its pillared portico, 
the old home of Henry Van Dyke, opposite West- 
land, the Cleveland house, equally handsome and 
delightfully " homey." 

Drumthwacket, standing in a grove of magnifi- 
cent trees, with great sweep of lawns about it 
and about, is perhaps the most beautiful of all 
these splendid places. The wide spread of its 
wings, the noble pillars that step so finely 
across the entire central portion, the unusual 
breadth of its steps, all mark it as one of the 
best expressions of the architecture of its period, 
1832. 

Our last evening in Princeton was a moonshiny, 
warm and tender one, that led us out under the 
trees of the University grounds and round to the 



PRINCETON 

front campus with an almost personal force. 
Lights shone and twinkled on the grounds and 
from the many windows of the dormitories as 
we wandered slowly under the walls and the 
arches. In the quadrangle a small group was 
lingering near the cannon, laughing, perhaps over 
some remembered incident of the Rush or the last 
Commencement. Important, at that season, are 
the Cannon Exercises, ending with the dramatic 
smashing against its old iron of the shower of 
long-stemmed church warden pipes. But we went 
on, round the corner of Nassau. 

As we reached the campus a sound of young 
voices swelled and soared — the Seniors were 
singing. 

Softly we joined the silent crowd idling in a 
great semicircle under the trees, some leaning 
against the trunks, others reclining on the grass, 
groups and single figures lost in the vague and 
shimmering shadows. Massed before the. steps 
on long benches sat the singers, the broad bulk 
of the ancient building backing them, the ivy, 
planted by so many different classes, waving very 
shghtly on the walls. Moonshine and shadow fell 
on everything like a magic veil, and the sweet 
odours of the spring night saturated the air. The 
effect was haunting and indescribable, almost 
unreal. The voices sounded strangely sweet and 
moving. Song merged into silence, and broke 

-h 123 -*- 



PRINCETON 

to song again. Occasionally, in the pauses be- 
tween the singing, we heard the twitter of an 
awakened bird in the trees about us. 

Too soon it ended. Singers and hearers alike 
drifted away, and we with them. 



124 



CHAPTER V 

Yale and New Haven 

We had turned our backs on the South, and were 
off for New England, where colleges are thick 
as daisies in June. But we were bent on seeing 
only a few, since this pilgrimage of ours had 
definite limits. 

New Haven was our present destination. And 
though the trains that run to the old city are 
the best you can ask for, the depression of getting 
out at that inconceivably atrocious and ancient 
station is sufficient to wipe away the pleasing 
impression of the smooth and comfortable ap- 
proach. However, there are signs of a new birth, 
and before much longer New Haven will probably 
be boasting of one of the star stations on the 
whole Hne. 

You must begin seeing New Haven, and Yale 
too for that matter, in a particular manner. 
You simply have to start at the Green and with 
the row of old churches that lend it such original- 
ity and distinction. It was here that New Haven 
itself began, and as it was perhaps the only 
old town we have in the country that was 



YALE AND NEW HAVEN 

definitely planned from the moment of settling, 
it deserves a certain respect — we couldn't be 
haphazard. 

It was in 1638 that a company of English 
Christians — and they were most particular as to 
the Christian element, and very grim about it — 
walked up the slope from the sea, headed by two 
of their number, John Davenport and Theophilus 
Eaton; and stopping at the identical spot where 
now the exquisite proportions of Centre Church 
dignify the Green, they founded New Haven, 
under the Indian name of Quinnipiac. The fol- 
lowing year they built there their first house of 
worship. Not only was it that, but for a number 
of years it was practically the centre of the 
settlement's activities in many directions, a 
meeting place, court house, voting booth and 
what not of the useful and important. 

With the original group was a civil engineer, 
who had come along for love of a fair maiden. 
On him devolved the duty of planning the pro- 
posed town, and he laid out the Green and the 
streets adjacent. His conception was spacious 
and orderly, and it has been followed to this day. 

Other buildings superseded the original struc- 
ture, but in 1814 the present church was erected, 
and it combines every charm and grace of that 
fortunate period in American architecture, from 
the noble proportions of its body to the top of 

-M26-i- 



YALE AND NEW HAVEN 

its heaven-y-pointing spire. To the right of it is 
United, or as it was called earlier, North Church, 
also a beautiful building, of brick painted a 
Colonial yellow, with a white, blunt spire, and 
to the left is the Episcopal Church, of stone, over- 
grown with ivy. These two were also built in 
1814. 

Standing well-spaced in a row near the centre 
of the Green, with fine elms about them and 
Temple Street running directly before them, while 
the broad lawns slope down in front and rise 
slightly behind, to the unbroken line of the Uni- 
versity buildings that front on the Green in 
Gothic splendour, the whole effect is impressive. 
New Haven has an opportunity for an unusual 
civic centre here. Many fine buildings already 
face the great square, the newer ones following 
the Greek idea. Among them are the Public 
Library and the Court House, built of white 
marble. The Taft Hotel has aped the modern 
sky-scraper, and though handsome in its way, it 
is entirely out of character with the finer portions 
of the square, and there are many mean and poor 
examples of what the lack of any coherent plan 
can do to spoil a noble situation. Perhaps in 
the future the city will exert some effort to have 
the buildings fronting on the Green conform to 
what is best there now. When it does, New 
Haven will possess something superb, something 

-+127 -i- 



YALE AND NEW HAVEN 

worthy of the vision that must have animated 
her original designer. 

Behind Centre Church used to he the grave- 
yard. Now a tablet in the rear wall relates that 
the body of the first Governor of the Settlement, 
that same Eaton who led the little company up 
the slope, lies nearby, and here, in a railed-in 
space a few feet back from the church, is buried 
the regicide, John Dixwell, with the old stone still 
marking the grave, though a new monument put 
there by his descendants carries carved upon it 
the main account of his life and death. 

Dixwell came to New Haven later than two 
other regicides, who stirred up considerable excite- 
ment in New Haven in 1661, playing a regular 
game of hide and seek, with life as the prize and 
death as the penalty. John Davenport, who had 
himself been a friend of Cromwell's, gave them 
faithful assistance, keeping them hidden in his 
house for weeks, but as the search grew more 
pressing a securer hiding place must be found, 
and so the two unfortunate gentlemen sought a 
rough shelter in Judge's Cave, on West Rock, 
which is more of a pile of stones than a true 
cave. Here, and in other desperate places, they 
spent two years, finally making good their escape 
to Hadley, Mass., where they are lost sight of. 
The name of one was Edward Whalley; New 
Haven has named the avenue running out toward 

-i- 128 -f- 



YALE AND NEW HAVEN 

the Rock, and incidentally Yale Bowl, in his 
honour. 

It all makes a curious hnk between the city 
and the days of Charles II. 

There were many other among the old settlers 
and among the later citizens who were buried 
behind Centre Church. Beneath it the crypt 
contains the remains of the early Puritan famihes. 
But in 1796 the old headstones and the bones of 
many of those whose names stand high in New 
Haven's history were moved out to the Grove 
Street Burial Ground, which is now the oldest 
in the city, a place of quiet charm and green 
alleys, crowded with illustrious dead, among whom 
are Noah Webster, Theodore Winthrop, Jedediah 
Morse, President Dwight, of Yale, and many 
more of the University's presidents and distin- 
guished professors, with admirals, governors, 
generals, and folk of lesser quality. 

Big and busy as New Haven is, and it is all 
of both, it is none the less dominated by the great 
University with which it is identified. Yale is 
in the very heart of the town. And since her 
dormitories are by no means sufficient to house 
her students, many of these are scattered through 
certain areas, within easy reach of the college 
buildings, so that the undergraduate life mingles 
with that of the old city to a greater degree than 
had been the case with those colleges and uni- 

-J-129-J- 



YALE AND NEW HAVEN 

versities we had been visiting. Every street seems 
to lead to the Green on which the University 
turns one splendid frontage, or right into some 
one or other of the many groups into which the 
University divides. Even the water's edge holds 
the Yale Boathouse, and from the precipitous 
slopes and lofty heads of West or East Rock 
you get your finest outlooks on the whole extent 
of the University. 

We were to have the rare distinction of eating 
at Mory's, that haunt dear to generations of 
underclassmen; not, to be sure, in one of the 
general rooms on the ground floor, but upstairs, 
in the Governor's Room, unseen if not unseeing. 
Before that hour we had time on our hands that 
should allow an opportunity to get some idea 
of the various campuses and the buildings that 
enclosed them or fronted on them. 

" Let's go through that splendid arch under 
Phelps Tower," Sister demanded. " It is some- 
thing like Princeton's Tiger Gate, through Blair, 
except of course that it is so very different." 

The description seemed to me entirely logical 
at the time, though perhaps it may puzzle those 
who have never walked through either. 

This whole portion of Yale is Gothic, the Old 
Library, facing Phelps across the campus, having 
been pronounced the finest specimen of that 
type in America. In the old days Yale was 

-J- 130 -«- 



YALE AND NEW HAVEN 

strictly Colonial, built of brick with white stone 
window and door facings, plain but beautiful in 
line, as the sole survivor of that period amply 
witnesses. This is Connecticut Hall, and nobly 
it keeps its dignity and poise beside the newer 
buildings built on an older plan that surround 
it. Standing alone in one corner of the campus, 
partially hung with vines, the fine old structure 
strikes a vibrating note of peculiar charm. Once 
it was known as Middle, or as South Middle. At 
that time it made one of a long and similar row 
that looked down upon the Green, and which have 
long since vanished. 

It was in this building that Nathan Hale had 
his room, as a bronze tablet sunk into the wall 
testifies, while before the building stands the statue 
of the youthful patriot, one of the last pieces made 
by the late Belah Pratt, a bronze that is singularly 
unstudied and appealing. The building is still 
used as a dormitory, and here the Dean has his 
office. 

Upon this campus, besides the Library and 
Phelps, face the ivy-draped fa9ades of the Art 
School, with D wight and Wright Halls and 
Vanderbilt Hall, one of the most sumptuous of 
dormitory buildings. Osborn completes the stately 
quadrangle. 

Although the elm beetle has done some evil 
work in New Haven, and on this campus, there 



YALE AND NEW HAVEN 

are many splendid trees that show little trace of 
his havoc. The light falls broken and soft on 
the lovely walls, that are so rich and yet so 
restrained in ornament. Although these buildings 
are not old, they have the temper and the tone 
of age, a mellow ripeness that has been greatly 
assisted by the mild climate of the neighbourhood, 
lending an English lushness to vine and green- 
sward, and tinting the stones to ancient hues. 

This is of course a very small part of the 
University, but here it began, and here it reaches 
its greatest distinction. 

Behind this campus, on the further side of the 
Library, runs High Street. Here was the Pea- 
body Museum, chiefly given over to natural 
history and specimens and collections, which 
is now in process of demolition and transfer 
to Sachem's Wood. High Street has another 
note of interest in the Brick Row Book and 
Print Shop, managed by Mr. E. Byrne Hackett 
according to a plan of his own that has resulted 
in making the place a real little club for the book- 
lovers among the undergraduates. No one is 
ever asked to buy a book in this unique estab- 
lishment. You may come, week after week and 
month after month, you may come every day 
of your whole college career, should you be so 
minded, and read to your heart's content, finger 
one volume after another, gaze with appreciation 










I 'lis: u. 









'%^ 4^T,;^j^^,-wj^,' ^ 



*>v- 










40 



>3 



O 



YALE AND NEW HAVEN 

on the old and new prints and engravings, the 
first editions, the superb copies of famous works 
stacked in rows or pinned on the walls, as 
the case may be, and no one will suggest that his 
business is to sell what here is gathered. 'We 
spent a happy period proving this for ourselves 
before we were joined by Mr. Hackett, who, 
being one of the governors of Mory's, had offered 
to sponsor our visit there. The room below is 
a solid mass of books, row on endless row, with 
moving ladders that let you get where you will. 
Up a fascinating winding stair, with wonderful 
bits of old carving and a priceless print or two 
hung against its wall, we found a great wide 
chamber where there were more books. Also broad 
window seats in each of the big windows, several 
of which overlook the building containing the 
swimming tank, given by Carnegie. This tank, 
with the lake at Princeton that came from the 
same spring, reveal a new bent in the Carnegian 
character. Apparently, when it comes to colleges, 
he feels that there are other needs than a library. 

Be that as it may, we camped very contentedly 
in one of those soft-cushioned seats, as we were 
told the students had a way of doing. 

" Every window will' be filled of an after- 
noon," said Mr. Hackett, " each of the boys 
with one or more books in his clutches. They 
feel at home here, and they get to feel at home 

•H-133-i- 



YALE AND NEW HAVEN 

with books, which is what we want. Many and 
many a young fellow has got his first taste for 
collecting right in this room. They are at liberty 
to wander all over, to come back into my office 
for a chat with me, or to squeeze in anywhere 
there's room for them. Hardly one but gets to 
be a book buyer before long, gets to want a 
little library of his own, learns about fine editions 
and old copies, or grows interested in prints. The 
place has come to be an informal club." 

It was easy to feel the fascination it exerts, 
bookish, leisurely, spacious and friendly, with its 
few pieces of rare old furniture, carved tables and 
secretaries contriving to make it still more home- 
like. 

We did not, however, reach the Brick Row 
Shop so early in our wanderings. First, with 
tireless feet and mounting enthusiasm, we moved 
from one to another of Yale's many buildings, 
trying to get a coherent notion of their extent 
and number. 

" Quite a job," as Sister said. 

On Elm Street we found a whole row, built of 
light coloured stone, in which were the Gym- 
nasium, as well as the Law and Divinity Schools. 
Then there is University Court, where the Bi- 
centennial buildings carry on the great story, 
and along Hillhouse Avenue the Sheffield Scien- 
tific School has its splendid being. This avenue 

r-i-134-f- 



YALE AND NEW HAVEN 

is one of New Haven's show places. It is short 
but very wide and finely parked, with huge, over- 
arching trees that make a lofty canopy where 
orioles whistle and nest in a paradise of leaves. 

Further afield still are the Observatory and the 
School of Forestry. This school was founded by 
J. W., father of Gifford Pinchot, who has meant 
so much to American forestry, in 1900, and the 
Botanical Gardens near by were established by 
Professor C. C. Marsh, on his own estate. The 
school was established to meet a direct need by 
the Government for trained foresters. It is the 
oldest school of forestry we have, and it is ad- 
mittedly the best and most influential. In 1916 
there were 153 Yale men in the U. S. Forestry 
Service, and twelve out of the twenty schools 
organised in as many states are directed by Yale 
men. 

There are two phases of Yale life that get their 
material form in the Yale Bowl and in the just- 
finished Armory for the Yale Battalion, consisting 
of four batteries of field artillery, organised in 
October, 1915, and tremendously " oversub- 
scribed," from the first. In this year the battalion 
is only a part of the immense response Yale has 
given the war, but it represents the permanent 
interest taken by the undergraduates in military 
training and instruction, as well as the backing 
of the Faculty. It was under the advice of 

H- 135 -i~ 



YALE AND NEW HAVEN 

General Wood that Yale decided to aid in 
strengthening one of the weakest arms of our 
military force. The beautiful armory, to be 
dedicated later in the year, probably at Com- 
mencement, has been erected by the graduates of 
the University, under the enthusiastic leadership 
of Anson Conger Goodyear, '99, and is placed 
close to the Bowl. We saw it from across the 
field, concrete result of a patriotic fervour that 
has always marked Yale. A thousand and more 
of her students drill every day in one branch or 
another, and hundreds have been taking the 
examinations for Plattsburg. It was the same 
story here as elsewhere: the colleges are running 
to meet the country's call with eager readiness, 
and the difficulty is not to get the men to enlist 
in its service, but to persuade them not to sacrifice 
their prospects and their youth too early. 

We came to the Bowl with a young man who 
had graduated only two years ago, but who 
had already done his share to maintain another 
of Yale's traditions — tliat of marrying more 
promptly after graduating than the men of any 
other among our universities. He led us up into 
the vast cup with pride. Empty it stood, and 
empty it will stand all this year, and who knows 
for how long besides, but how splendid it was 
in that emptiness. We climbed to the topmost 
ridge of seats and gazed down to the circle of 

.-J- 136 -4- 



YALE AND NEW HAVEN 

brilliant green where such mighty combats have 
been staged, with every inch of space in those 
innumerable tiers occupied by frenzied partisans 
of the contesting teams. Here the Yale songs 
and Yale cheers have echoed again and again, 
both in defeat and victory. Here thousands of 
flags have fluttered to the shouts and songs, the 
whole vast circle has rocked and flamed with sound 
and colour under " that inverted bowl we call 
the sky," which seems hardly more gigantic. But 
now it stood breathless, shimmering slightly, 
hugely silent . . . 

" What a sight it must be in moonlight," 
whispered Sister, as we sat there, our imagination 
striving to conjure back into that immense soli- 
tude the massed tempest of its crowded hours. 

You had to whisper there. 

As we went back toward the campus our Yale 
graduate, even as had happened in Princeton, 
kept remembering things that we ought to have 
seen somehow, if we were to do Yale any sort of 
justice. Woolsey Hall at Commencement, and 
the lanterns shining orange amid the ehns of the 
campus. The Procession of the Alumni on its 
way from Hewitt Quadrangle. The Addresses in 
Battell Chapel. All this was Yale's stately side. 

" At Mory's you'll hear about some of the 
undergrad clubs," he told us. " The Hogans, 
extinct for the moment, but unforgotten and 

-f-137 -i- 



YALE AND NEW HAVEN 

probably to be revived, the Whiffenpoofs, the 
Pundits. And then there's the literary side, the 
men who edit the Lit., the Courant and the 
Record, not to speak of the Yale Daily. They 
are a big influence in the college life." 

We felt that, aside from information, it was 
distinctly time for Mory's. Sightseeing in 
cloistered campuses and wind-fresh Bowls had 
had its effect. We were, in short, ravenous. 
And there, awaiting us, stood our host, before 
the quaint little wooden building that shelters 
the famous restaurant. 

A narrow, boxed-in stairway led us to the 
second floor and the Governors' Room, with its 
great round table and Windsor chairs, its Hogarth 
prints on the wainscoted walls, its cheerful little 
windows with the small panes of an older day. 
Here on the oaken board the covers were set, 
and here, smiling with entire good nature at this 
invasion of his castle by the forbidden sex, was 
Billy, the steward, making us feel at home and 
welcome on the spot. 

The menu at Mory's resembles those in English 
chop houses. It is simple, excellently cooked and 
abundant in its portions. Sister and I found 
them too big for us, and we are quite capable 
of holding our own after a morning's exercise 
such as lay behind us. The specialty that morn- 
ing was scrambled eggs with bacon, and it was 

-f-138-!- 



YALE AND NEW HAVEN 

real bacon, savoury of the smoke house, no flaccid 
imitation treated with what is imaginatively 
described as " liquid smoke." Toast too, and tea, 
and wonderful pie with cheese. Students who 
have haunted Mory's will later on in hfe bitterly 
complain to distracted wives, wondering why they 
cannot have meals " Hke Mory's used to make." 
Perhaps this is the reason why women are not 
allowed in the delectable place. At any rate, no 
mother sending her son to Yale need worry for 
fear he won't get meals as good as those he gets 
at home. So long as Mory's endures, home cook- 
ing has a goal set for it. 

Over our luncheon we heard talk of the famous 
undergraduate clubs that have met at Mory's 
these many long years, and have made the name 
dear to Yale men the round world over. How 
dear was made evident not so many years ago 
when Mory's, having had two bad years, and 
finding the neighbourhood where it had been since 
1871 to be no longer satisfactory, almost decided 
to quit. An item to this effect was printed in a 
New York paper and ran broadcast over the 
country, reaching even into distant ports in China, 
India, Southern islands below the far horizon's 
edge — and back, post haste, came letters of des- 
perate appeal from Yale men. What? Close 
Mory's? It was unthinkable. 

Luckily Mory's didn't have to close. It found 
-»-139-i- 



YALE AND NEW HAVEN 

new quarters within easy range of the University, 
and moved up, body and soul. For not only was 
the spirit of the old place completely transferred 
to the new home, but the very window frames, the 
furniture, the bar, the ancient black door with its 
bright brass trimming that admits you from the 
street, all these came too. Wainscoting replaced 
paper, the trophies of fifty years took their accus- 
tomed places over the identical chimney pieces, 
and Yale settled back, content. 

It was Louis Linder who made Mory's what 
it is, taking it from Mrs. Moriarty as a popular 
place where town men came more often than 
college members, a place known for good food 
and good drink, but lacking the distinction he 
gave it. Louis Linder loved the undergraduates, 
and they loved him. He made the place their 
place. Gradually it became completely identified 
with them, and with the graduates who had known 
it in their own student days. Now it is only 
members, and there are fifteen thousand of them, 
95 per cent identified with Yale, and their guests, 
who have the entree. Before Linder died he had 
formed plans to make an association that should 
take the management of Mory's, but death came 
before the arrangements were completed. His 
idea has been carried out, however, and the place 
is run by a board of governors whose services 
are entirely voluntary. 

-?-140-<- 



YALE AND NEW HAVEN 

But the business side of Mory's, though im- 
mensely important, is not the side that fascinated 
either Sister or me. It was the human side, and 
what a human place it is! 

The most famous of the clubs that make their 
headquarters at Mory's are the Hogans, at present 
suppressed, but due some happy day to revive 
again. The Pundits, whose huge old brass flagon 
stands nobly on its shelf till it is filled with 
cider for their feasts. Cider is their drink, and 
scrambled eggs, sausage, hashed brown potatoes, 
apple pie and cheese their food. The Cup Men, 
limited to six, one being a Bones, three Keys 
and two St. Anthony men, who own the great 
pewter loving cup with its six handles, carved over 
with the names of the various members, among 
which are such as W. H. Vanderbilt, Harry 
Payne Whitney, Jim Gamble Rogers, all Cup 
Men in their day. A particular cup is served, 
made from a recipe brought from England by 
Truman Newberry, later Secretary of the Navy, 
which is called for under the name of " Velvet." 
The sessions of the Cup Men are lively, and 
prolonged, it is whispered, beyond the midnight 
hour at which Mory's is suppose to close — " But," 
as Billy told us, with his tolerant smile, " you 
can't get them out." 

Then there are the Whiffenpoofs, also at 
present under temporary eclipse, for the college 

-i-Ul-i- 



YALE AND NEW HAVEN 

authorities have a way of sudden suppression 
when wild spirits grow too wild. The Whiffen- 
poofs have somewhat evaded extinction by holding 
a series of burial parties in which they take a 
fond and formal farewell to hfe, only to repeat 
the performance next year. They come in cos- 
tume and they sing — besides other things of a 
joyous nature, as well as a noisy one. 

Perhaps they, more than any other of the 
clubs, led to Mory's being given the nickname of 
The Quiet House. It is not much used nowadays, 
but once it was more common than its real name. 

Billy went on a scouting tour as we sadly 
refrained from eating more pie, and returned to 
report that the last student had gone, and we 
might go down and " see the rest." 

So down the crooked stairs we went and into 
the first of the several small square or oblong 
rooms into which Mory's divides. In the Seniors* 
room was the round table known as the Seniors' 
Table, at which no man not a Senior, or guest of 
a Senior, may sit. Round about the room are 
the usual oblong tables for other classmen. 

The round table is beautifully carved with the 
initials of those who sit at it, year following year, 
till it is so completely covered that there is room 
for no more. In the centre of each table is the 
circle of the Cup Men, with their initials, or their 
names, and dates of their classes, and among 

-J-142-+- 



YALE AND NEW HAVEN 

the other signatures are those of distinguished 
guests — we made out, among the many, a W. B. 
Y., cut by Yeats when he was a guest there. 
When each of these round tables is quite full, 
it is taken off and hung against the wall in one 
of the rooms, and a splendid decoration these 
tables make, the dark wood gleaming richly under 
the carving that has been beautifully done. 
There is a lot of practicing at the other tables 
before the actual work on the sacred circle 
itself. 

And as we went from one room to another, 
more items kept coming from Billy — how the 
Brown Game was the great day of the Whiffen- 
poofs, and that their parties had a distinctly 
Johnsonian flavour. Mention too of the wonder- 
ful Green Cup, whose ingredients are a secret, 
handed down from steward to steward, that costs 
six dollars a quart and is as delectable as it is 
potent. How the Hogans each had a name, such 
as the Kid, naturally the biggest and the huskiest 
of the lot, the Plain Hogan, the Pop, the Burglar, 
Birdie and so on. When a Kid Hogan has a son 
who is his first born, that kid is to be an honourary 
member; but so far the eldest have been girls. 
In the meanwhile presents are accumulating for 
the youngster. We saw them hanging on the 
wall, tiny boxing gloves, a small pair of Chinese 
clogs, sent by a Hogan from that distant place. 



YALE AND NEW HAVEN 

a wonderful striped shirt and attractively smart 
little knickers, with other tokens of yearning af- 
fection. But so far the cradle is empty. 

The Hogans were specially favoured at Mory's, 
and they were dearly loved. Five or six only, 
they were the choicest spirits in the college. Food 
and drink was always free to them, and is to this 
day. Once a Hogan always a Hogan. They 
used to do clerical work for the restaurant in 
return for the " welcome home " they got there. 
The parties they gave are unforgotten, and they 
are spoken of in the places that knew them with 
reminiscent smiles. 

We were shown a number of the champagne 
bottles emptied at the dinners of the different 
Hogan groups, each bottle signed with all the 
names, and the date. They stand on one of the 
chimneypiece shelves, a sturdy group, but Billy 
confessed that one of them, now and again, mys- 
teriously vanished. 

" They're considerable of a souvenir," he said. 

On one wall, high against the ceiling, hung a 
scull. It was the stroke oar of those that won 
the great boat race of June 19, 1914, where only 
the fraction of a minute intervened between the 
winners and losers. 

" The Cup," we were told, as we looked on its 
pewter splendour and noble proportions, " is never 
taken down unless one of the Cup Men is present. 

-h 144< -*- 



YALE AND NEW HAVEN 

And when it is passed round the table, it must 
never be set down till empty." 

Among the prints and photographs on the wall 
we noted one of a stern-faced woman, in a circle 
of wild youths — youths who seemed to have looked 
on the cup longer than was good for them. 

"That," said Billy, "is Carrie Nation. You 
know she visited Yale, and the boys had great 
times with her. She was too busy looking at the 
camera to see what they were doing — and maybe 
they doctored the negative a bit." 

So there she stands, grim and stout, while 
behind her bottles and glasses are flourished, and 
at her feet the heads of the seated men droop 
in attitudes that suggest a vast lapse from sobriety. 

We were even allowed to go into the bar, a 
small and cosy place, exquisitely fitted up with 
numerous shining instruments and glittering 
glasses, fountains for soft drinks, and bottles that 
held sterner stuff. " Everything's close at hand," 
as Billy expressed it. 

All this is only a part of Mory's and its many 
relations with the undergraduate body. But there 
was more of Yale for us to see, and we departed 
— reluctantly, as is probably the habit of those 
who go there. 

But before we left Billy gave us the words 
of the Whiff enpoofs' chorus, and here they are: 

^ ^ ^ ^ ^ rkt 

-^ 145 -i— 



YALE AND NEW HAVEN 

THE WHIFFENPOOF ANTHEM 

(To the tune of " Gentlemen Rankers ") 

(To the tables down at Mory's, to the place where Louis 

dwells. 
To the dear old Temple Bar we love so well, 
Sing the WhifFenpoofs assembled with their glasses raised 

on high, 
And the magic of the singing casts its spell. 
Yes ! the magic of the singing of the songs we love so well 
" Shall I Wasting " — and " Mavourneen," — and the rest 
We will serenade our Louis while life and voice shall last. 
Then, we'll pass, and be forgotten with the rest ; 
We're poor little lambs, who have lost our way. Baa, 

Baa, Baa, 
Little black sheep who have gone astray, Baa, Baa, Baa, 
Gentlemen songsters off on a spree. 
Damned from here to eternity, 
God have mercy on such as we. Baa, Baa, Baa. 

Something very different indeed from Mory's 
is the Elizabethan Club: it is also as distinctly a 
Yale institution, and it is unique. 

The two have one strong point of likeness, 
however. Both are entirely and radically demo- 
cratic. The Elizabethan Club has a membership 
composed of Faculty, Graduate and Undergrad- 
uate members, twenty undergraduates from each 
one of the three upper classes of Yale College 
or the two upper classes of the Sheffield Scientific 
School. The Faculty members are never to 



YALE AND NEW HAVEN 

exceed thirty in number. The officers of the 
club are chosen from the Faculty and the graduate 
and undergraduate members, while the board of 
governors has four undergraduate members, as 
against six graduate and Faculty. The names of 
the members of the board are set down alpha- 
betically, so that it may easily happen that the 
youngest undergraduate may top the list, except 
of course that the Chairman, as is always the case, 
is at the very head. 

The members meet on a footing of perfect 
equality, and this desire to promote good fellow- 
ship and social ties between the Faculty and the 
students was one of the main motives of the 
foundation of the Elizabethan Club. The founders 
had no surety that their plan would not result in 
failure ; itideed, provision for turning over to other 
uses the various assets of the club in this case was 
made. But it has proved a signal success. The 
club is a club in the very best sense of the word. 
In its large upper chamber men gather for chess 
or checkers, to read and to smoke, to talk literary 
shop, to plan the entertainments and lectures given 
each year, and all are simply members, each with 
an equal voice. 

There are no dues. 

This remarkable fact removes the slightest 
chance of favouritism on the basis of money. It 
puts the poorest member on precisely the same 

-»- 147 -e- 



YALE AND NEW HAVEN 

level as the richest. He is a member for personal 
reasons, because he is the sort of man the other 
members, when they do their electing, want to 
have in the club. Although the club is pre- 
dominately a literary organisation, the fact that 
you are editor of the Lit. will not make you an 
ex-officio member. You may be chosen, or you 
may not. It is the same with the instructors in 
the department of English. 

" Our idea is to bring together a congenial body 
of men from all parts of the college," Mr. Keogh, 
librarian of the Elizabethan Club as well as of the 
University library, told us, as he took us in to see 
the charming place. " Naturally men interested in 
literature and in books generally, and in the 
drama, are the men to whom the club makes an 
appeal, and the men who are wanted here. But 
there is no notion of asking them to be specialists 
in literature or anything of that sort. They need 
only have a feeling for literature." 

We entered an oblong room panelled in wood, 
with a long table and a few old Windsor chairs. 
Fine engravings hung on the walls, most of these 
being rare and particularly good impressions, for 
the club is rich in these. It owns a Henry VIII., 
by Cornelius Metsys, 1544, and Metsys made no 
attempt to soften an extreme ugliness when he 
made the portrait, judging by the wicked, heavy 
face he shows us, and an Erasmus by Jerome 



YALE AND NEW HAVEN 

Hopfer, one of the earliest engravings in exist- 
ence, among other treasures. 

But the heart of the Elizabethan Club was now 
thrown open to us. Mr. Keogh had been mysteri- 
ously engaged for a few moments at the farther 
end of the room, and suddenly he swung back 
the immense door of a great safe, a room in 
itself. On the shelves of this protected chamber 
stood or lay the almost priceless collection of rare 
books owned by the club. 

A remarkable collection of Shakespere quartos 
and folios, first and second editions, and each one 
a splendid and beautiful copy; a "Hamlet," per- 
fect and small, worth more than five thousand 
dollars. The first edition of the Sonnets, dated 
1609. The " Taming of the Shrew," first quarto; 
these were but a few that were laid in our hands 
with reverence, as became their age and their 
beauty. Besides these there is a first edition of 
"Paradise Lost," an exquisite thing; wonderful 
editions of Spenser, and many more of the early 
seventeenth century authors in first or second 
editions, as well as of rare sixteenth century 
volumes. Other books depending more on the 
richness of their binding than on their age glow 
with colour and gold hand-tooling on the shelves. 
And there are some magnificent manuscripts too, 
among them an illuminated Grant of Lands in 
Ireland to Sir Francis Annesley, with a miniature 

-h 149 H- 



YALE AND NEW HAVEN 

of James I, bearing the date of January 9, 1619. 

The place is a shrine to the great gods of 
literature, and Sister and I felt that merely 
to sit there with one of its treasures in our hands 
was a priceless privilege. 

But time, as usual, would not be denied. We 
wanted also to see the tea-room, or at least where 
tea is served to the members during the college 
season, a square, comfortable chamber with leather 
armchairs and broad tables, on which two jars 
filled with tobacco wait for any one who wants 
to fill his pipe. They are always kept full, hke 
a new Baucis pitcher, by some generous magic. 
In the little entry between the two rooms hang, 
on a rack, a number of slender clay church- 
wardens, each with its owner's name on the 
bowl. 

In this and another room are several paintings, 
one of the maiden queen whose name the club 
has honoured, a contemporary portrait by Fred- 
erick Zucchero, another of Garrick, a charming 
thing, painted from life in 1772 by Robert Edge 
Pine, and an Opie, a portrait of Charles Fox, 
also from fife, dated 1802. Perhaps more inter- 
esting yet is the large painting of Elihu Yale 
with his son, who died shortly afterward; showing 
a fine florid gentleman in rich clothes. 

" Between the Elizabethan and Mory's," Sister 
confided to me, as we bade the place good-bye, " I 

r-»- 150 -*- 



YALE AND NEW HAVEN 

don't see that a Yale man needs anything. Why- 
bother with the University? " 

There is something in the point of view, even 
if it tends to exaggeration. 

We didn't allow Mr. Keogh to escape us just 
yet, however, for we wanted a look at the great 
library, and a notion as to just what a University 
Library was. 

" Yale is proud of the fact that she really 
began as a library," he told us. " When it was 
decided to found a collegiate school, as the title 
had it then, the founders each contributed a 
certain number of books. Right there the Uni- 
versity began. For after all, the nucleus of a 
college is the book." 

There is hardly a building in Yale that doesn't 
house books, and in the Library itself there are 
close upon a million volumes. 

" A college library differs from a University 
library, and the duties of the librarian also vary. 
The books used in a college are for the trans- 
mission of knowledge. Most of those in a Uni- 
versity are for research. Perhaps fifty thousand 
of the books here are consulted by the under- 
graduates. The rest are for the use of graduates 
and special students." 

It was a succinct expression of a fact we had 
neither of us realised. 

The libraries of the Brothers in Unity and the 



YALE AND NEW HAVEN 

Linonian, old societies of Yale, are now used 
chiefly as a circulating library, and are kept up 
to date by the constant accession of new books 
and the retirement of the older ones, that go to 
the stacks. This is the fluent and modern part, 
the fiction and lay books. There are also fine 
law and scientific and religious libraries. 

Books, books, it was a world of books. 

In the librarian's office are the old doors 
of the house where the Founders met at Bran- 
ford, Reverend Samuel Russell's house. Small 
and battered by age and more or less hard usage, 
it is difficult to realise that a great University 
issued from them, small enough in the beginning, 
but possessing so immense a vitality and capable 
of filling a great and increasing demand so nobly. 

Evening was coming as we left the 'building 
and crossed the campus, that already seemed 
homehke and familiar to us. We were promised 
an automobile ride about New Haven with a 
trip to the two Rocks, and sunset from West 
Rock. 

New Haven is a city of fine wide streets and 
magnificent elms, of houses set back in lovely 
grounds, a place of quiet spaces. From the top 
of East Rock, which we reached along a fine road 
of wide sweeps and curves, the place looks a 
great garden. On top of the Rock there is a 
shaft of stone that is dedicated to the soldier dead 

-J- 152 -J- 



YALE AND NEW HAVEN 

of the city. We sat awhile at its base, our eyes 
on the two shining rivers and the broad bay that 
frame the pleasant valley that so long ago at- 
tracted John Davenport and Theophilus Eaton. 

Between this Rock and the Green lies the most 
attractive part of the old city, a number of the 
oldest and finest estates belonging here, together 
with newer but beautiful homes. The park about 
the Rock, and the avenues leading from one of 
these heights to the other, are crowded with great 
trees. New Haven has a passion for parks. She 
puts them everywhere, up on the peaks and down 
by the water, and right in the heart of the town. 

At West Rock we got our look at the Judge's 
Cave and a tumultuous looking sunset, quite up 
to par. Then back again to the Green, with its 
peaceful churches riding the centuries unmoved 
by the changes about them. The bright movement 
of college life was stirring everywhere. 

Old John Davenport had striven hard to found 
a college here in this city that he loved, then a 
mere settlement on the edge of a wilderness. He 
had had to leave before the first efforts began to 
bear fruit. It was in 1701 that the Collegiate 
School that later became Yale was founded at 
Saybrook, and not till 1716 that it came to 
New Haven, after some curious occurrences, oc- 
casioned by the fact that Saybrook was decidedly 
anxious to hang on to it. 

-i- 153 -e- 



YALE AND NEW HAVEN 

As we drove down through the busy, clattering 
streets of the lower city to the station, for we 
were to go on to Providence that night, the 
crowds on the sidewalks were all tending upward, 
to the Green and the University. Many of them 
probably never gave Yale a thought. Yet, let 
New Haven call itself what it will, and interest 
itself in a thousand energetic directions, the dream 
of old Pastor Davenport has come true. It is 
truly a college town. 



154 



CHAPTER VI 

Providence and Brown University 

There is a story told of a Chinaman who was 
employed as a cook at the station restaurant that 
was the only eating place at the Grand Canon 
before the hotel was built on the rim. 

Daily this Oriental observed quantities of 
people disembarking from the arriving trains, 
eating a hasty meal and clambering out of sight 
up the trail that led through the dust and under 
the scrubby pinon pines over the shoulder of the 
hill. After a while they came back, ate another 
hasty meal, climbed aboard the waiting train and 
vanished. 

At last he approached the manager for whom 
he worked: 

" What for allee people go top -side allee time 
when get here? " he wanted to know. 

" Haven't you ever gone up there. Hop ? " 

The Chinaman shook his head. 

*' Me vellee busy man," he replied. 

"Well, you go up, and see for yourself," he 
was told. 

He went. When, a long time afterwards, he 
came back, there was a wild look in his eye, though 

-J- 155 -J- 



PROVIDENCE AND BROWN UNIVERSITY 

he had nothing to say. But he never missed a 
chance to climb top-side after that, and could be 
seen, sitting immovable on the terrific rim, when- 
ever the work was slack enough to allow of his 
leaving. 

Providence reminded me of that story. 

You could lead a long, busy and entirely satis- 
factory life in Providence without ever guessing 
that there was a college within a hundred miles of 
the city. To be sure, you might wonder, while 
shopping in Market Square, just what lay atop 
of the breakneck hill up which people and strug- 
gling horses scrambled and vanished, but unless 
you decided to find out for yourself. Providence 
would never be anything to you but a rushing, 
busy, noisy, clattering, crowded place of narrow, 
criss-cross streets and lanes, jumbled buildings 
and the vision of the State Capitol off behind 
the railway station. 

The station at Providence is a very different 
thing from the New Haven affair, being a new 
and several milhon dollar building crowning a 
green slope that merges with the parked area 
below, round which are the public buildings of 
the city, or some of them, combining to form the 
Civic Centre. Trolley cars come right to the 
entrance of the station, there is a fine drive-way, 
flower beds in the grassy slope, and behind the 
station a well-conducted river held stiffly within 



PROVIDENCE AND BROWN UNIVERSITY 

walls, and the lofty, white and handsome State 
House, on its own hillslope. 

We put up at the Narragansett, a hotel of 
the good, solid old-fashioned type that fills you 
with astonished wonder at the scorn of mere space 
possessed by the old-time architect. The amount 
that goes to waste in hotels of the Narragansett 
type all over this country, could if converted into 
acres and planted with potatoes, probably sustain 
a whole city-full of hungry war-folk for a year. 
Sister and I felt that though we might in time 
get to know Providence, we were most unlikely 
ever to unravel the vasty halls and writing rooms 
and parlours and observation suites of our hotel. 
We were constantly coming out on an unexpected 
balcony or finding a new flight of majestic stairs, 
or stopping to gaze at another romantic picture 
on a newly discovered extent of wall. 

Waste was certainly the great American sin. 
But we are improving. Our modern hotels are 
really much larger than the Narragansett and 
its fellows, but they are too efficient to seem so. 
Everything has its place and stays in it, and 
you do not meet huge lost rooms unhappily 
wondering what they are for, or vacant halls 
and landings as big and as useless as an elephant 
in a city backyard. Yet there is fascination to 
these old hotels ; they have a foolish human quality 
that appeals — you think of them in a personal 

-J- 157 -J- 



PROVIDENCE AND BROWN UNIVERSITY 

way. You feel toward one of them much as 
toward some big, fat, good-natured friend, a trifle 
grandiose in gesture, a bit unctuous in phrase, 
but a comfortable soul to be with, never pressed 
for time and always with a good story to tell. 

" Maybe we'd get more of the real heart of 
Providence staying right here in the hotel," I put 
it to Sister, " than in rambling about the town 
itself?" 

" I thought you wanted to see that Rock," she 
replied. " And I want to see whether we can 
remember anything of the map." For we had 
been studying a Providence map. 

So out we went. There was a gallant breeze 
and a fresh sea-smell, with large round clouds 
sailing splendidly through the blue. The streets 
were crowded, people fairly jostling one another 
on the narrow sidewalks, the cars in the street 
treading on each other's rails, traffic policemen 
waving a welcoming or a forbidding hand to 
the jammed rows of automobiles and wagons. 
Nearby there were several skyscrapers, one with 
a turbaned head carved on it — The " Turk's 
Head," a modern incarnation of a vanished bit 
of history. 

There are so many corners and crossings, and 
even the longer streets have so confusing a way 
of changing into an alias on the least provocation 
that it has probably seemed an impossible task 

-f-158-«- 



PROVIDENCE AND BROWN UNIVERSITY 

to Providence to mark the whole puzzle. You 
can walk for many a block without seeing the 
name of a single street, and even where they are 
put up it is in small, dull letters in unexpected 
places. We imagined ourselves to be on Wey- 
bossett Street, but suddenly discovered it to be 
Westminster. The map — surely the map had put 
Westminster Street in another part of town alto- 
gether. We must be going wrong. 

Any one who has tried to spread out a large 
map printed on very thin paper, in the middle 
of a crowded and windy pavement, will know 
how anxiously we spent the next few minutes. 
It gave us a decidedly conspicuous feeling, 
and we couldn't find any street at all be- 
ginning with a W. So Sister asked the traffic 
policeman. 

" He says we are to keep right on as we're 
going to get to Market Square, and then turn a 
little to the left and we'll see the old church, 
and up past that to the University. But he 
doesn't know anything about the Rock." 

Connected to the map was a small guidebook 
giving various items of information, among the 
rest a list of Points of Interest. One of these 
Points was the Roger Williams Rock. No indi- 
cation as to the whereabouts of any Point or 
the way to reach it was included in this reticent 
communication. To be sure, the parks and the 

-+-159-J- 



PROVIDENCE AND BROWN UNIVERSITY 

college and the hospitals and the station were 
marked on the map; but not the Rock. 

Narragansett Bay lays a long seagreen finger 
right into the heart of Providence, the tip touching 
Marget Square. This finger has been called the 
Providence River, and to it the city largely owes 
its air of foreignness and quaintness. You could 
pass entire days idhng round the bridge and along 
the quays, watching the shipping push in and out ; 
the unloading, the heaped and coloured produce 
of the markets that elbow each other, blinking out 
under wooden shed-roofs, the sea folk and trading 
folk, Italians, Portugese, Swedes and Yankees. 
A delectable fragrance of fruit and vegetables 
and tarry cordage is blown about the place and 
through the very short and narrow lanes that 
run up along the northeasterly bank of the river 
from Water Street to Main Street, which parallels 
the tidewater and continues in a generally northly 
direction (later adding North to its title) for a 
respectable distance, and without any violent turns 
and twists. The lanes have odd names, expressing 
the business thought of the old inhabitants, who 
carried on a great trade with the Orient, especially 
India. There is an India Street running from 
Providence River to Sekonk River, a stream 
emptying at the very head of Narragansett Bay, 
reminiscent of that time, and the lanes are called 
Doubloon, Pound, Shilhng, Penny, Gold, Silver, 

-?-160-J- 



PROVIDENCE AND BROWN UNIVERSITY 

Coin, Guilder, Dollar and what not, with a 
Patriot and a Power thrown in for good measure. 
On the other hand the old residence streets, and 
most of them remain such to this day, — thanks to 
the fortunate physical structure of the land on 
which Providence is built, — carry names such as 
Friendship, Benefit, Benevolent, Pleasant, Meet- 
ing, Mt. Hope and Peace. But, as there are 
more streets in Providence than exist in any other 
city even several times its size, it is impossible 
to more than hint at the variety of nomenclature. 
Apparently the only omission is that of numerals. 
So far as we could discover there was no First 
or Second, or anything higher, Street in all 
Providence. 

Market Square does not end with the river, 
but continues on, and we continued with it. 
Presently we stopped before an ancient building 
of exquisite proportions, the more noticeable be- 
cause of its entire simplicity, the only adornments 
being the arched windows and entrances of the 
ground floor, and the clock in the front gable. 
Once this was the Market House, now the Board 
of Trade houses there. We were able to perceive 
members of the Board sitting about in the big 
club room reserved for their more idle moments. 
It is a bare and spacious chamber, looking out on 
the crowded and busy square through the fine 
big windows, as the past might be expected to 



PROVIDENCE AND BROWN UNIVERSITY 

observe, from its achieved peace, the rush of the 
present. 

A trifle farther along, just where the square 
ends, is Steeple Street, that carries you straight 
to the First Baptist Church, among the most 
perfect in all America. It stands on a sharp rise, 
surrounded by a grassy plot, the street dividing 
before it, the hill continuing to climb behind it. 

This interesting church was built in 1774-5 from 
alternate plans submitted by the English archi- 
tect, James Gibbs, of London, for St. Martin's- 
in-the-Fields, of that city. Joseph Brown, one 
of the four Brown brothers who meant so much 
to Providence in her early days, as the family 
continued to mean much through most of her 
development, with William Sumner, were the 
builders of the First Baptist. The graceful 
Wren spire, the beautiful facade and a certain 
delicate strength and rhythm of line and pro- 
portion make the church a treasure to the eye. 
If Providence held nothing else reminiscent of the 
past this church alone would be reason for pride 
and joy. It is closely alhed to the University, 
the exercises at every Commencement but two 
since 1776 having been held there. Besides this 
church there are many splendid examples of those 
Colonial and early nineteenth century buildings 
that have never been surpassed as examples of a 
beautiful architectural accomplishment. 

-j-162-f- 



PROVIDENCE AND BROWN UNIVERSITY 

The Old State House, erected in 1763, is an- 
other case in point. Built of brick, with a white 
stone clock tower rising from the square central 
projection of the second story and the entrance 
porch, with its brick pilasters, the building gives 
you a feehng of noble adequacy. Several great 
elms and a lawn with a flagged path leading to- 
ward the flight of steps that flow outward in a fine 
sweep, guarded by an iron railing that has its 
own note of elegance, add to the effect. Provi- 
dence is generous in its parks and gardens and 
lawns, preferring elbow-room everywhere but in 
its business streets, which are often so narrow 
that it must be difficult for two carts to pass 
each other — many are one way streets through 
sheer necessity. 

To be sure, in speaking of Providence, it is 
necessary to remember that it is really two distinct 
cities, the lower stratum of intense activity and 
crowded hfe, flat down by the river and stretching 
away to the south and east till it reaches the 
spacious environs and parks of its later life, and 
the upper stratum, above the sharp decHvity left 
by ancient, gnawing glaciers on their way to the 
sea, where the old and new homes, the serene, 
tree-shaded streets, gracious walled gardens and 
the charming old University, create and maintain 
an atmosphere of calm seclusion, untouched by 
and unaware of the turmoil at its feet. Walking 

-»-163-e- 



PROVIDENCE AND BROWN UNIVERSITY 

along Prospect or Benefit Streets, at the edge of 
the escarpment, you can look down at working 
Providence, and away to the river and the bay, 
and from the streets and squares, as you dodge 
trolley and motor-car, you may gaze upward at 
the serene heights; but the two do not mingle. 
All but a few of the cars find their way through 
a long tunnel under the hills of homes and learn- 
ing, to emerge on their way to Pawtucket, passing 
unseen and unheard. It is difficult to conceive of 
a better arrangement. Yet rarely are a city and 
a college more closely united than Brown and 
Providence. This we discovered later. 

New Haven and Providence are remarkably 
dissimilar; dissimilar as the impulses behind their 
foundation. New Haven was long famous for 
the extreme blueness of its laws, the leading idea 
of the group of men who founded the colony 
being conformity — conformity to things as they 
saw them, to their conception of religion and of 
personal behaviour. The town was planned and 
laid out according to rule, and those who lived 
in it were supposed to take life straitly. The 
church and the state were closely united, the 
public officers being almost always ministers of 
the church. When Yale was founded the chief 
thought was the training of pastors — " to supply 
the churches in this colony with a learned, pious 
and orthodox ministry," although the first charter 

-h 164 -i- 



PROVIDENCE AND BROWN UNIVERSITY 

also states that the aim was to establish a school 
where the scholars might be fitted " for public 
employment, both in church and civil state." But 
there was constant insistence on the students' 
orthodoxy, rules for every moment of their day, 
requirements that they shall " Constantly attend 
upon all the Duties of Rehgion both in Publick 
and Secret," and that, should any one be guilty 
of heresy and continue obstinate therein he should 
be expelled. 

But the town of Roger Williams was founded 
as a refuge for any and all who preferred to think 
for themselves, and to worship God after their 
own fashion. It was the free spirit of man that 
was enshrined here. 

I told this to Sister, as we sat on a species 
of balcony projecting from Prospect Street, with 
a view of the tangled streets below. 

" He was left free to put his house where 
he chose and make his own road to it too, I 
imagine. No one makes a straight road unless 
under compulsion. Here they evidently crowded 
their buildings in every-which-way, as suited their 
whim, and would zig-zag about on all sorts of 
errands, stopping here for a chat and there to 
leave a message, and then as likely as not turn 
back for something they'd forgotten, and grad- 
ually these meanderings turned into streets, and 
there they are ! " 

-f-165-i- 



PROVIDENCE AND BROWN UNIVERSITY 

It seems the best explanation for the general 
ground-plan of Providence. 

The new State House looms up nobly from 
such a vantage point as that where we sat. 
It looks much like other modern buildings in- 
tended for the same purposes, with pillars and 
wings and a great dome, but this dome happens 
to be one of the few in the world that is con- 
structed of marble. When time has merged it 
more with the landscape, grown some trees about 
it and softened its present rather harsh newness, 
there will be few lovelier sights in the country. 

But there was more interesting stuff at hand 
than a new marble dome. We had been promised 
a personally conducted tour about the University, 
the " College under the elms,"' as its sons like 
to call it, and even as we still sat looking down 
at the fascinating confusion of Providence the 
tolling of a bell from the belfry of University 
Hall, the first of the college buildings, warned 
us to be up and doing. 

Colleges have a happy faculty for finding 
advantageous localities. Those we had been see- 
ing had each proved the fact; but among them 
all. Brown seems to have done itself proudest. 

How could there be a finer spot than this 
plateau, for such it is, with its views far and 
away across the lovely countryside and the blue 
waters, the town at its feet, the wonderful effect 

-<-166-*- 




■^^^s\ 



^^ 



■»k 



■\v 



^5»i- 



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awaf^a&c- 



/.l"^ 



/« ///^ Satne Row With University Hall is 
Manning with its Doric Columns 



PROVIDENCE AND BROWN UNIVERSITY 

of isolation witli the actuality of closest contact 
with the city? Up here the streets are calm, 
shaded, lost in a delightful sense of leisure. No 
city in New England retains more of its beautiful 
Colonial homes, surrounded by gracious embracing 
gardens, and these again by brick walls that have 
been carefully considered in their relation to the 
beauty of the whole. Providence, on these sweet 
levels, combines warmth and dignity, a delicate 
reserve with a welcoming hospitality that reaches 
to you even as you walk along its quiet streets, 
so spotlessly in order, so devoted on either hand 
to blossoms and green leaves. 

We walked up College Street to the corner 
where, facing on the University grounds, stands 
the John Hay Library, admitted to be, even 
away from Providence, one of the most perfectly 
planned and beautiful of college libraries. Out- 
side the building strikes the Greek note that has 
always marked Brown, for one of her oldest 
buildings, standing in the Brick Row that faces 
the front campus. Manning Hall, named after 
the first President, is Doric. The John Hay, of 
white stone, with a stately facade, gives a great 
impression of spaciousness and airiness that is 
confirmed when you enter. On the second floor 
there is a wide window overlooking the University, 
and here we met our friend, primed with infor- 
mation and enthusiasm; we already shared the 

-i-167-<- 



PROVIDENCE AND BROWN UNIVERSITY 

enthusiasm, and fully intended to get the infor- 
mation also. 

" Come along and take a look at the room the 
students use for reading and study. It's the 
most used room of any in the University." 

There is no nonsense about that room, with its 
sensible tables and chairs, its splendid lighting, 
the convenient bookcases open to every one. A 
number of students, both young men and young 
women, were sitting at work or studying the 
shelves for some desired volume. 

" The Woman's College is entirely separated 
from us," our Senior told us. " They have their 
own campus and buildings and gymnasium — 
Sayles Gym. They get all the college courses 
— same Faculty, same work for degrees, same 
exams and diplomas — but the student life of the 
two is absolutely apart." 

The Woman's College was established in 1891, 
after some years of debate on the advisability of 
such a step, and was a success from the first, 
though accommodations were rough and simple 
for a few years. Now, inside its fenced-in 
campus, the college makes a handsome addition 
to the rest of the University. The buildings. 
Miller Hall, Pembroke and the Sayles Gym- 
nasium, are of an agreeable simplicity, with vines 
clambering up the well-proportioned walls, great 
trees guarding them, and always that effect of 

-«-168-*- 



PROVIDENCE AND BROWN UNIVERSITY 

somewhat dreaming retirement from all noise and 
confusion that sets its impression on Brown. 

We now crossed the street from the Library 
to the Van Wickle Gates, which nobly usher you 
into the famous old front campus. And here 
we stopped to take in the fine row of buildings 
that separates this from the middle campus. 

University Hall, brick built and vine covered, 
was modelled on the beloved Nassau of Princeton, 
though it lacks the high belfry of that old Hall. 
It was built in 1771, and has been repaired and re- 
modelled in 1880 with the greatest success. Brown 
has been peculiarly fortunate in retaining all her 
first buildings. In the same row with University 
— Old U. H., the Senior called it, affection in his 
voice — are Hope College, the second building 
erected, in the same general style as University, 
Manning, the third, with splendid pillars sup- 
porting the pediment, Rhode Island Hall and 
Slater Hall. The John Carter Brown Library 
repeats in a different style the Greek conception 
which inspires Manning. This mingling of 
Georgian, Colonial and Greek architecture turns 
out to be most happy. The row has a distinction 
impossible to convey in words, the composed 
facades of the dominating brick buildings gaining 
by the rich contrast of the age-toned columns and 
balanced harmony of their temple-like comrades. 

Hope and Slater are dormitories, as is Uni- 
-^-169^- 



PROVIDENCE AND BROWN UNIVERSITY 

versity, though the latter is also provided with 
recitation halls and houses the Department of 
Enghsh. Manning is used for lectures, holds the 
museum of art, and enshrines the tablet to those 
sons of Brown who fell for their country. 

The John Carter Brown Library contains the 
best and completest collection of Americana in 
the country. 

"It would take months just to look at the 
outside of all they've got," said the Senior. 
"Naturally it's used more by specialists than by 
the students as a general thing. But it is mighty 
important on Class Day, for the Senior Sing is 
given on its steps. I tell you what, when it comes 
to hearing ' Ahna Mater,' which is the last thing 
they give, while the whole college is grouped about 
on the grass under the trees, you feel pretty 
stirred up. Brown has the best song book of any 
college in the country; we're strong on music. 
And Brown is famous for its processions, too. 
They've called us the * paradingest ' of colleges. 
Why, nothing much can happen without the 
classes, from the Freshies up, holding a parade, 
with red fire and costumes and all the trimmings. 
Always march right down the hill and through the 
business streets, just to let the town know some- 
thing's doing here." 

In one corner of the front campus stands the 
Carrie Tower, given to the University by Paul 



PROVIDENCE AND BROWN UNIVERSITY 

Bajnotti, of Turin, Italy, in memory of his wife, 
Carrie Mathilde Brown, one of the great Brown 
family that has meant so much both to Providence 
and the University that carries its name. Built 
of brick with stone enrichment and a belfry and 
clock, which strikes the hours on a sonorous bell. 

We noticed that several students who passed 
us wore small, very tight skull caps, brown with 
a white button on top. Naturally we wanted 
to know why, and were told that the Freshmen 
were obliged to wear this mark of their class until 
May 29. On the night of that day, the eve of 
Memorial Day, they destroy them effectually in 
a huge bonfire built for the purpose on Lincoln 
Field. 

Behind Brick Row is the middle campus, and 
here is the Rockefeller Building, a fine, plain 
structure, the home of Brown Union. 

Brown is devoted to the Greek Letter Societies 
that have so divided University opinion through- 
out the country. 

At least twenty of the national societies are 
represented at Brown, and have the Faculty 
support. In the rooms of the frat. houses many 
of the students live — all that are not housed in 
the various dormitories, and eighty per cent of 
the students belong to one or other of them. 

" Of course competition is keen among the 
different frats.," said our informant. " They tell 



PROVIDENCE AND BROWN UNIVERSITY 

us that our system is the best there is, and that 
there is less of the objectional side to the secret 
societies here than elsewhere. They certainly are 
prime favourites with the men and help make 
undergraduate life at old Brown a highly inter- 
esting experience. Perhaps our Union keeps them 
from making snobs of the members." 

" Well, just what is you Union? " 

" Rockefeller Hall is a great club where every 
student who pays the nominal fee of four dollars 
a year is at home. The rooms are charming, great 
comfortable leather backed chairs, nooks and 
corners, books, magazines and papers, everything 
looked for in a comfortable and attractive club. 

" Here is the centre of most of the University 
activities. The editors of the Brown Daily 
Herald, of the Brown Magazine, and of the Brun- 
sonian meet to carry on their business in three 
of the rooms. Here the various athletic asso- 
ciations manage their affairs. And the Sock and 
Buskin, Brown's great dramatic club, is another 
centre of interest for the members of Union. This 
club gives frequent performances in public, at 
least eight or ten a year, and there is intense 
rivalry to ' get aboard.' But only true talent 
will make you an actor at Brown! " 

Other clubs besides the fraternities have great 
importance in the University. There is the 
literary club, called the Wastebasket, to which 



PROVIDENCE AND BROWN UNIVERSITY 

men interested in literature naturally gravitate. 
Members include undergraduates, graduates and 
certain of the Faculty, and they are recruited 
through invitation. Then there is the Cammarian 
Club, consisting of twelve Seniors, whose new 
members are announced after the last Chapel 
service by the Tapping Ceremony. This club 
manages most undergraduate business in relation 
to its intercourse with the Faculty, and men of 
the highest grade only are able to make it. It 
is probably the most coveted of any in the 
University. 

" The minute college opens, and when the 
' rushes ' between the two lower classes are on, 
the upperclassmen begin to root for their special 
frats. and clubs. This is an interesting thing to 
see, and it makes it nice for the lower class men, 
who feel that they are really wanted as part of 
the college life. Rushing for the frats. brings 
out all a man's social qualities. The rushes be- 
tween the Sophs and Freshmen gets their physical 
side developed." 

Brown keeps thoroughly democratic, and the 
Union is the heart of this democracy. Without it 
the frats. might be harmful, but it is too big 
and vital a part of the University to fear any 
competition. 

" You ought to see this campus on Class Day," 
said the Senior, after explaining these club affairs 

-i-liS-i- 



providence; and brown university 

briefly. "In the evening the lanterns are strung 
here in thousands, meeting right in the centre, 
and high over the heads of the crowds. Round 
about are the different stands of the fraternities, 
decorated with flowers, and in the houses the 
spreads and dances are going on. Everywhere 
there is music. It is a wonderful sight. The 
thing is all so centralised, so fuU of motion and 
light and colour. And then, suddenly, at a 
quarter to twelve, everything stops — biff! Every- 
body gets back from the centre and there, under 
the meeting strings of lanterns, swaying in the 
wind, the Seniors gather for their last student 
parade and banquet. As the clock tolls midnight 
they start off down the hill, red fire blazing and 
a band at their head — and the celebration is over." 
He told us much more. The events of Com- 
mencement, the meeting before Manning Hall on 
the middle campus of the alumni and guests of 
honour in cap and gown, and of the march down 
the hill to the old Baptist Church, where the 
degrees are conferred. Of the luncheon later 
served out on Lincoln Field, that lies directly 
below middle campus, commanded by a superb 
mounted statue of Marcus Aurelius. It was at 
the base of this statue that we sat while he tried 
to reconstruct the picture for us. The field is 
the centre of the baseball activity of Brown, which 
is confined to interclass games, from motives of 

-J-174-*- 



PROVIDENCE AND BROWN UNIVERSITY 

economy. Here it is that the great bonfires are 
built by which the various classes celebrate certain 
occasions and events of the college year. While 
the alumni sit on the field, under gay tents and 
at decorated tables, the band plays on the middle 
campus, and in Manning Hall the alumnae are 
having their luncheon. The class hymn is sung 
on this campus, which is the centre of the Class 
Day and Commencement exercises, the point of 
departure from and arrival of the various pro- 
cessions and the place where any special cele- 
bration is held. 

" The Woman's College usually gives a pageant 
on its own campus, and last year's Shakespere 
Pageant was a great sight. Of course this year, 
on account of the war, the whole thing will be 
different. You know Brown has had military 
drill since 1892 under U. S. A. men. This year 
so many of the men will be scattered among the 
different camps that it will be more like a soldiers' 
reunion when they come here for their degrees, 
and most of the old practices will go by the board. 
Many have entered the Navy in one way or 
another, and probably can't get back at all. In 
a University where there aren't more than about 
a thousand students all told that makes a big 
difference." 

It was the same story whose different chapters 
we had been following from one college to another. 

-»- 175 -<- 



PROVIDENCE AND BROWN UNIVERSITY 

Sayles Hall is the college Chapel, a Roman- 
esque plan having been followed in building it 
that is effective in itself, though failing to 
harmonise with the general idea that commands 
Brown. It was given in memorial of young 
Sayles, who died before graduation, by his father. 
It is also made use of for lectures and recita- 
tions, and the orations incident to graduation. 
Attendance is not compulsory, since many faiths 
were admitted from the first to broadminded 
Brown. As far back as its removal from Warren 
to Providence, in 1770, chiefly through the in- 
fluence and exertions of the four Brown brothers, 
the college voted to throw its doors open to Jews, 
then an unheard of liberality. 

Down on Lincoln Field a couple of the class 
teams were practising baseball with splendid 
energy, and the three of us had stopped there, 
at the feet of Marcus Aurelius, to watch them. 
This is not the only Athletic Field, nor the most 
important; Andrews Field, on Camp Street, a 
mile away, has the cinder track, the football 
grounds, the Field House thoroughly fitted out 
with showers, lockers and the paraphernalia inci- 
dent to physical well being after violent exercise. 
On this field the Commencement baseball game is 
played. Then there is the Lyman Gymnasium 
and the Colgate Hoyt swimming pool and house, 
one of the best to be found in America. Swim- 



PROVIDENCE AND BROWN UNIVERSITY 

ming is in great favour at Brown, Brown men 
getting more into the habit every season of 
sweeping up the prizes at intercollegiate meets. 

" The point is that practically every man at 
Brown goes in for one form or another of 
athletics," we were informed. " For the first two 
years here gymnasium work is obligatory and by 
that time you've got the habit." 

Like other colleges Brown has its peculiar 
institutions and rules. Of course the Freshmen 
are those most affected by underclass customs. 
For instance no Freshman may walk on the south 
side of College Hill until his class has won a base- 
ball game from the Sophomores. Also he has 
that pesky cap to wear on every day but Sunday. 
Until the Junior Week of his Class he is not 
allowed to put a silk hat on his head even of a 
Sunday. No Freshman may smoke on the 
campus or on Andrews Field. 

*' You've got to keep your eye on a Freshman," 
remarked the Senior gravely. " Some of the old 
boys, when they come back here, shake their heads 
over us, and say that we don't keep up the old 
customs with the right spirit; that the rushes are 
mild affairs compared to what they were in their 
day. But that's just their class loyalty, and we 
only grin — it shows the right spirit." 

" I suppose a mashed Freshman is an un- 
answerable proof that the old college is still thor- 



PROVIDENCE AND BROWN UNIVERSITY 

oughly alive?" It was Sister who wanted to 
know. 

" Nobody gets hurt — that sort of thing never 
was popular at Brown. But there's plenty of 
pep in the brushes between the classes." 

" Any more rules? " 

" Well, no one but a Senior can sit on the seats 
by the Van Wickle Gates, nor on the east steps 
of Manning or the east steps of Middle Univer- 
sity. But on the whole we're pretty easy-going." 

We laughed. 

" Spring Day, soon after the Easter holidays, 
is quite a celebration here," went on our invaluable 
informant. " That's the day the Seniors put on 
the cap and gown for the first time, and adopt 
a Class mascot. Pretty queer the things they 
get for mascots, too. Then there's Junior Week 
Carnival, lasting three days, and a good time 
had by all every minute, a regular circus with 
all sorts of stunts, and at the end a farce given 
by the Sock and Buskin and produced by Phi 
Kappa. 

" On May 29 all the classes go out for a big 
time. The Seniors hold a clambake somewhere 
round in the environs of Providence. The Sophs 
have a banquet. The big thing of the day, how- 
ever, is the Junior Cruise. The Class charters a 
sailing or power boat and sails off to a place 
already chosen to eat a Bhode Island shore dinner 

-h 178 ~i- 



PROVIDENCE AND BROWN UNIVERSITY 

— I guess that cruise and that dinner is one of 
the things no Brown man ever forgets! But 
the Freshmen are having their own Httle cele- 
bration too. They call it the Freshman Cap. 
One of the biggest parades of the year, with all 
the trimmings, trumpets blowing, torches, red fire. 
Then they come back to the campus and march 
down on Lincoln Field where they've built a 
great bonfire, set it off, and burn their caps." 

One of Brown's original celebrations is what 
is called Sub-Freshman Day, and is an invitation 
affair. The guests are collected from preparatory 
and high schools and entertained by Brown men, 
with the idea of showing them how much better 
it is to come to Brown than to go anywhere 
else. There is a ball game on Andrews Field 
and a banquet to wind up the day. Many a 
recruit is won to the University on that occasion. 

But it is when the Brown bear has made a kill, 
and the Brown and White are brought back from 
the football field in triumph that the college turns 
out in force, and lets the city know all about it. 
The Freshmen in relays keep the bell in Univer- 
sity tolling steadily. Then there is a wild parade 
when anything as to costume goes, but costume 
there must be. Maybe it looks singularly like 
lingerie, perhaps it is a brand new suit of pyjamas 
or some ancient and very holey garment that an 
old clothes man would discard in despair. Never 



PROVIDENCE AND BROWN UNIVERSITY 

mind, on with it, and off to the parade. Down 
into the business streets, with frequent pauses for 
cheers, or the better development of the marvel- 
lous snake dance, an impromptu of wondrous 
steps and contortions. Finally back again and to 
a great bonfire on Lincoln Field. . . . 

" You ought to see 'em dancing round that, 
with their shadows streaming out — wildest sight 
you ever saw. Dance till they are done for. Then 
every one sits round on the grass except the 
orators, who follow each other, and pour out the 
greatest lot of stuff — bonfire orations. Last of 
all we sing Alma Mater." 

We had to say good-bye now, for even a Senior 
had certain calls upon his time, and U. H. was 
tolling for a lecture that ours needed to attend. 
He swung away, glancing at the clock, and we 
sauntered after him, loath to quit the fine old 
campus, smihng at the visions of youthful energy 
and high spirits the boy's talk had given us. We 
walked past the Woman's College for another 
look at it, wishing we could remain to see the 
lovely Ivy Exercises of Commencement held at 
Sayles Gymnasium, and see the procession of the 
women in cap and gown winding under the trees. 

It would not do to omit a mention of the 
Rhode Island School of Design, affihated with 
the University, and occupying a beautiful building 
close to the Baptist Church, for it is doing a 

-^ 180 -*-. 



PROVIDENCE AND BROWN UNIVERSITY 

magnificent work. But to exhaust the possibili- 
ties of Brown would have taken Sister and me 
a longer time than we had to give. We had our 
impression — of a serene group of fine buildings 
under their elms, of a body of undergraduates full 
of enthusiasm and up to many pranks, of a fine 
equipment both on the academical and the scien- 
tific side, for from its founding Brown was 
pledged that its " public teaching shall respect 
the sciences," and there are excellent provisions 
for this purpose in several modern buildings be- 
longing to the University. 

We could not linger among the streets on the 
hill, seeing the ancient and noble houses, as we 
wanted to. Hardly one but has its bit of history, 
its title to distinction. 

And the Rock? 

We did get to the Rock, the What Cheer Rock 
that gives to Providence its motto. On the 
Sekonk River, not a far stroll from the Univer- 
sity grounds, is the fragment of blue slate, pro- 
tected by an iron railing, on which, so tradition 
says, Roger Williams first landed, being greeted 
by a group of friendly Indians, who called out to 
him, as he came up the stream in his boat, " What 
Cheer, Netop ? " Later they deeded to him a 
large part of the land on which Providence now 
stands, and were always his good friends. Nor 
did they have to regret this friendship, as was 

-J- 181 -«- 



PROVIDENCE AND BROWN UNIVERSITY 

unfortunately so often the case with the red man 
in his contact with the white one. 

"But you must come back. There is Roger 
Williams Park to see, for one thing — and the 
Stuart portrait of Washington in the new State 
House " 

And a great deal more. But our emphasis 
this time was on the colleges, and we were du3 
to get to Harvard that evening. 



182 



CHAPTER VII 

Harvard and Cambridge 

Getting to Cambridge was like getting home. 
The years run along, and doubtless the old town 
changes tremendously. But it keeps its quality 
and its effect upon you. You don't note its 
strangeness so much as recognise its familiarity. 
Those brick-paved sidewalks under the blooming 
limes, murmurous with a myriad bees; — the sound 
of their humming always brings Cambridge to 
my mind, a Cambridge sweet with that fine, clear 
perfume of linden flowers, a Cambridge of old 
houses and gardens and girls in white, leisurely 
and homelike. 

Longfellow and Lowell belong to this old place. 
They did not merely live in it. They are part of 
its spiritual and physical makeup, and to go to 
Cambridge without renewing your acquaintance 
with the houses where they lived would be to lose 
an essential part of what Cambridge is. 

It is a joy to see how tactfully the city has 
treated these relics of its ever-present past. The 
street. Brattle, where the Longfellow house 
stands, is beautiful and green with the shadow 
of trees. Many new houses have come to share 

-+•183-}- 



HARVARD AND CAMBRIDGE 

the poet's neighbourhood, but these do not look 
new; they have been built with a predominating 
sense of fitness, and they harmonise with their 
elder brothers. Then there has been a touch of 
genius in the placing of the little park opposite 
the house, with its bust of the fine old man, 
and the decorative figures that accompany it. 

The kindly, gracious house, on its slight rise, 
well back from the street, fulfils your desire for 
the house of a poet hke Longfellow; it is like 
one of his own poems, friendly, sincere, nobly built 
and enduring. 

From Longfellow's Sister and I walked to 
Lowell's house, Elmwood, more stately within its 
encircling lawn and behind its great trees. How 
many times we had heard stories of our father's 
evenings there, in long talks with that keen and 
gracious mind, before the cheery snappings of a 
hickory fire. How kind both men had been to 
the undergraduate, so recently fatherless — yes, 
right there, up that straight white path, in the 
room to the left, Lowell had read German to 
young Hawthorne, and commented upon the life 
of men and the life of books. 

" All that was just after the Civil War," mused 
Sister. " Now we stand here, with the country 
on the verge of another war — over the verge. 
Will there be others standing here and other 
wars, and so on endlessly, and the old houses, 

-j-184<-{- 



HARVARD AND CAMBRIDGE 

grave and beautiful, and as unchanging as the 
ways of men? " 

We next turned our steps to the Common, for 
a ghmpse at the ancient and shattered ehn under 
whose boughs Washington had once stood. It 
looked smaller within its circle of iron rails, as 
though it were shrinking gradually from view, 
vanishing to some tree Valhalla where it would 
renew its noble spread of branch and find again 
its youthful girth. Here it was that the General 
took command of the Continental Army. While 
we lingered there we noted how many among the 
young men who passed us were in khaki. A 
very large per cent of Harvard's students had 
joined the colours, we were told, and the town 
itself had given many to the cause. 

" You should go to the Stadium and see them 
drilling," said our informant, and it was like an 
echo of the counsel given us at Charlottesville. 

And now we were in Harvard Square, before 
the lofty iron fence with its various superb gates 
that has long since replaced the wooden wreck 
that somewhat untidily separated college and town 
in the days we had been thinking about. 

Our previous personal contacts with the Uni- 
versity had been on Class Day celebration, when 
the yard and the quadrangle are transformed to 
scenes from fairyland, the jewel-bright lanterns 
shining, the sound of music pulsing and fading, 

-J- 185-*- 



HARVARD AND CAMBRIDGE 

the gay crowds going from spread to spread, or 
pressing in to see the rooms of Senior brothers, 
or to the dancing, or crowding about the pavilion 
where the band discourses the dance music. 
Seniors then hurried along in cap and gown, 
there was flash and colour everywhere, an endless 
turmoil of voices. The Sanders Theatre exercises 
lent their importance to those black-gowned young 
men. You would sit, bursting with admiration if 
your particular Senior was to read the Class Ode, 
or the Class Poem — but that was always sung to 
the tune of Fair Harvard — or the Class Oration. 

" Great old days," I sighed, reminiscing with 
Sister. 

" I always liked the moment in the afternoon, 
three o'clock, wasn't it, when the Seniors formed 
in parade and went round cheering the buildings. 
It was right there, in front of Holworthy that 
they assembled, and then around the yard. What 
a sight! First all the graduates, then the various 
other classes, then the Seniors in a solid body, 
so solemn and so energetic in their cheering — 
do they do it yet? " 

Yes, we were told; Harvard hangs on to its 
traditions, and each class goes through pretty 
much the same program as the one preceding it 
the year, or years, before. 

After marching round the yard, the procession 
swings across the river to the Stadium, that great 



HARVARD AND CAMBRIDGE 

horseshoe of row on row of seats, with the splen- 
did, columned balcony atop and its outlook on 
the Charles. All the visitors have gathered there 
first, and then the lower classes have marched in, 
to sit on the grass at the foot of the steps, waiting 
for the Seniors. 

" There isn't a more wonderful sight on earth," 
Sister declared, as we stood in the yard, recalhng 
that moment, so moving and so dramatic. 

Then we both laughed. 

" You can't have attended Harvard Class Days 
in your budding youth and remain entirely un- 
prejudiced," I declared. 

Harvard, as everybody is well aware, is the 
first college founded in America. In 1636 the 
first steps were taken when the General Court 
of the Colony voted four hundred pounds toward 
the estabhshment of a school or a college. Next 
year it was decided to choose what was then *' New 
Towne " as the seat of the institution, and the 
year following New Towne was called Cam- 
bridge, in deference to the number of the founders 
who had been associated with the Enghsh Cam- 
bridge. The actual naming of the college came 
in 1639, in honour of young John Harvard, a 
master of Emmanuel College, Cambridge, who 
had come to America the year before and had 
instantly become deeply interested in the young 
seminary of the new world. In his will, and he 

-i-187-«- 



HARVARD AND CAMBRIDGE 

lived only a year after arriving in America, he 
left the half of his fortune to the college, a sum 
amounting to nearly double that voted already by 
the Court. He also left to what was to be 
Harvard some three hundred books, nucleus of 
the Library. It was in this year, 1639, that the 
college was organised. Since 1640 the history 
has been unbroken, the first Commencement fall- 
ing in 1642. But it was not till 1650 that the 
charter was granted, the charter under which 
Harvard is still conducted. This charter, in all 
its beauty of initial lettering and decoration, is 
still to be seen. It has worked well and lasted 
well, though at one time, 1692, when a new 
charter was granted the Colony by William and 
Mary, making citizenship dependent on property 
rather than church membership, there came near 
being a revolution in the college, led by Increase 
Mather, who kept things in a turmoil for ten 
years or more. But in the end he failed to have 
the college charter changed, its liberal and tolerant 
ideas winning decisively over the narrow blueness 
of the Mathers, father and son, and those who 
supported them, a blueness that reached its ideal 
in Yale when that institution was founded in 1701. 
The true greatness of Harvard dates from the 
time when President Eliot took the Presidency, in 
1869. Up to that time Harvard was, according 
to the words of Mr. James Bryce, " no real Uni- 

-i-188-i- 



HARVARD AND CAMBRIDGE 

versity, but only a struggling college, with uncer- 
tain relations of learning and research, loosely tied 
to a congeries of professional schools." At the 
end of Eliot's forty-year incumbency Harvard 
stood among the great universities of the world 
and was instinct with a vigourous growth, that 
continues to sweep it on and upward. 

But enough of history. Sister and I were here 
to register impressions, to catch, if we might, 
the passing stream of undergraduate hfe and 
convey some of its colour and variety. To say 
a word for the old buildings, almost unchanged, 
around the yard and the quadrangle, and for the 
new ones, spreading further and further with the 
swift growth of the University. 

The yard has lost a httle of its effect of seclu- 
sion and of age in losing the elms that once made 
it parklike. Many of these are still standing, but 
looking rather like those rustic hat stands that 
occupy bungalow hallways, so short are the lopped 
boughs. Besides these young oaks are beginning 
a sturdy growth and throwing an effective shade. 
A hundred years hence they will be magnificent. 

Old Grays and Boylston are unchanged, out- 
side at least. Stoughton, Holworthy and Hollis 
stand in all their former dignity, and here the 
undergraduates still house; Holworthy having 
become particularly the home of the Seniors since 
the slogan " back to the yard," has brought the 

-Hl89-t- 



HARVARD AND CAMBRIDGE 

old dormitories again into favour — even with 
students who have Hved on the Gold Coast 
through the earlier years of their college life. 

Plain, severe, their four stories and many 
windows look down serenely on the green stretches 
of lawn, cut into regular segments by the dividing 
paths. This austerity is a refreshing contrast to 
the splendours of the Gold Coast, where the 
money that it cost to build the long row of 
luxurious living places fairly shrieks along the 
blocks. In these concessions to the modern desire 
of youth to do itself very well indeed are suites 
that would have struck awe, not to say horror, 
into the hearts of Harvard's founders. Here 
are squash courts, swimming tanks, marble en- 
trances and much more 

" It makes one think of those huge and splendid 
liners, the Titanic and the Lusitania, now van- 
ished from the seas," Sister thought, as we were 
shown something of all that splendour. But the 
boys, most of them in army or navy uniforms, 
who were going in and out, looked unspoiled by 
the munificent preparations made for their daily 
living. 

" They will learn how little you can get along 
with, instead of what is taught here, how much," 
I said, " and of the two lessons I do not care for 
that of the Gold Coast." 

Harvard has done a good deal to combat the 
-!-190-e- 



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HARVARD AND CAMBRIDGE 

scattering of her students by making it the thing 
to come back to the yard as a Senior, and by 
building dormitories specially for her Freshman 
class. Hollis and Holworthy and Stoughton have 
been brought up to date in sanitary ways, with 
showers and electricity. The old buildings are 
once more exerting the charm that lies in restraint 
and austerity upon the undergraduates. It is a 
joy to see them, in their ivy mantles, once more 
returned to honour. Hollis is the oldest, dating 
from 1763; then comes Stoughton, 1805, and 
Holworthy seven years later. The other old 
buildings. Grays, Thayer and Weld, and Boyl- 
ston, with Matthews, were erected at a less for- 
tunate period in American architecture and have 
no particular value as landmarks of beauty, 
though they give to Harvard an added bit of 
that feeling of age which remains undisturbed in 
the yard. 

University Hall, built of white granite, where 
are the Faculty room and the various administra- 
tive offices, is a fine example of the best work done 
in 1815, one of the great moments in American 
architecture. And then there is Massachusetts, 
oldest of all, built in 1720, and used only for 
lectures and class recitations, facing Harvard, 
with its pleasing fa9ade and cupola. In the north 
end of Massachusetts, on Peabody Street, is a 
bust of Lowell, by Daniel C. French, with an 

-»-191-i- 



HARVARD AND CAMBRIDGE 

inscription. These make the total of the buildings 
on the yard proper, though the quadrangle ex- 
tending behind University, Thayer and Weld is 
also called the yard. 

The old Harvard, that part of the University 
which is its centre and to which you go when 
you want to find Harvard itself, is fortunately 
thus compact and harmonious. It lies mostly 
within the precincts of the yard and the quad- 
rangle, and Soldiers' Field. The newer portions 
go on indefinitely in the Law and Scientific Schools 
and the graduate departments. Down by the 
Weld Boathouse on the Charles are the new 
Freshman dormitories. Radchffe College, though 
its social life is entirely apart from Harvard, is 
none the less closely related to it, making use 
of some of its buildings in addition to those it 
owns. 

Indeed, it is remarkable how entirely distinct 
Radcliffe remains from the University of which 
it is a part. 

" Radcliffe girls go their way and we go ours," 
said a student, and appeared to think that that 
ended the matter. 

Harvard life is complex. For a time it looked 
as though there would be no such thing, in fact. 
So great were the divisions among the men in the 
classes, according to any of a thousand outside 
considerations, that the college spirit and even 

-<-192-i- 



HARVARD AND CAMBRIDGE 

the solidarity of the classes was practically on the 
point of extinction. Athletics had got to be a 
matter of purple panes to your windows rather 
than abiHty and strength and courage. The rich 
went one way, the poor another, and the in 
between had nowhere to go. Men passed through 
the whole four years knowing practically no one. 
Harvard was becoming a laughing stock in the 
major sports and a place of privilege and favour- 
itism in its club and fraternity activities. /^ ,^* 

But now all this has been changed. Partly 
this is owing to the new efforts to bring Fresh- 
men together for their first year of college life, 
and to reunite the Seniors during their last year. 
Largely it can give thanks to Percy Haughton, 
who broke up the bad old athletic system, made 
excellence the one requisite to winning the H, and 
to competing in all the sports, and lifted Harvard 
back into the very front of intercollegiate athletics. 

Athletics is the one greatest meeting point 
among college students. Harvard has its Union, 
costing ten dollars a year and open to every 
undergraduate, but the very size of this club 
prevents it from being a club. It is a useful and 
necessary institution, and is constantly crowded. 
Its dining room is extremely popular, its assembly 
room, beautifully panelled in oak, with a high 
ceiling, gives opportunity for frequent social af- 
fairs, and the big library upstairs is most attrac- 

-i-193-«- 



HARVARD AND CAMBRIDGE 

tive. In the assembly room there is a very good 
Sargent. 

One wing of Union is used as the 'Varsity 
Club, was in fact added for that purpose in 1912. 
Here are the training tables, and the centre of 
athletic interests in the University. Here there 
is something like a true democracy. Athletics 
looks for the best man, not for the richest or the 
bluest blooded. The unheralded youth from the 
Far West is going to get his seat at one of those 
training tables, if he has the stuff and the am- 
bition. To be a member of it, it is necessary to 
have won the H — and the dues are kept low. 
Harvard has learnt her lesson, and it was Percy 
Haughton who read the riot act. 

The old days when two members of the Hasty 
Pudding would carry a great iron kettle filled 
with that eatable from the Commons to the weekly 
meeting and feast of their club are gone — Har- 
vard is largely given over to little, rich, exclusive 
clubs in precious buildings, many of them on 
Mount Auburn Street, the Gold Coast section. 
But on Soldiers' Field a man's a man, and that's 
all he is. 

In spite of the clubs, and they are by no means 
so important a factor in Harvard life as one 
would think, because the University is too big to 
be in any danger of being swamped by the club 
luxury and club snobbishness, a real success is 

-h 194-?- 



HARVARD AND CAMBRIDGE 

being achieved in increasing the class spirit of 
the students. The class presidents are hard- 
working and enthusiastic, tireless in getting up 
" smokers " and other attractions, and though few 
intimacies are made between men who belong to 
clubs and men who don't, yet the trend is toward 
a closer union among the undergraduates, as some 
years ago it was in the opposite direction. 

" Roughly speaking," said one of the several 
undergraduates who were good enough to steer 
us round the college grounds and to pour more 
information than we could digest into our eager 
ears, "roughly speaking there are three main 
interests in Harvard, literary, social, athletic. 
Naturally the men who care more for the social 
aspect of University life drift into clubs, par- 
ticularly the Porcellian or the A. D. or one of 
the smaller clubs. The literary man will get in 
with the bunch that runs the Crunson or the 
Lampoon, or he will write for the Advocate, or 
maybe, if his tastes are dramatic, he will make a 
bid for the Hasty Pudding. The Hasty Pudding 
nowadays doesn't do very much except give its 
farce, an elaborate and thoroughly well done piece. 
It has its old club house, of course, and there are 
dinners that are worth eating. But its big theatre 
is its main point of interest. Then there are 
dozens of other clubs with all sorts of interests, 
appealing to all sorts of tastes and types. In one 

-h 195 -i- 



HARVARD AND CAMBRIDGE 

or two among the number a man is likely to run 
across the special group that is most congenial, 
and naturally he tries to join it, or them. As 
for the athletic interest, men from all the clubs 
may be members of any of the teams and sports 
associations, and so may those who don't belong 
to a single one of the clubs." 

The Greek letter fraternities have in most 
if not all cases, broken away from the na- 
tional organisations, and maintain separate 
clubs. 

Rowing is of course one of the chief athletic 
sports of Harvard, and the boathouse on the 
Charles is a goodly place. There are two clubs, 
the Weld and the Newell. We went down to 
watch some of the crews pulling about in shells; 
but this year, since there will be no race with 
Yale, the interest is not so keen. 

" Men go out for a little exercise, not to train. 
The training is all for war." 

After we had seen all of the old buildings we 
pursued our investigations into the rest of the 
yard, where once stood old Gore Hall, where 
now the new and efficient Library fills the eye. 
Here also is the Chapel, Sever Hall, Emerson 
Hall, the School of Philosophy, built by Guy 
Lowell, and having a fine effect with its grouped 
pillars. But there have been many changes here, 
and the old graduate is said to grumble when 



HARVARD AND CAMBRIDGE 

he looks for Shafer in vain, and the ugly house 
that used to be the home of the President, and 
mourns the passing of Gore. 

We left the yard close to the Fogg Art 
Museum and walked on Cambridge Street for 
a glance at the old Gym, later the Rogers Build- 
ing, and since then the Germanic Museum, and 
to see Memorial Hall, with its big tower and 
generally somewhat overburdened style. But 
though it lacks in beauty, it is an interesting and 
significant building, raised to the honour of those 
sons of Harvard who fell for the Union, and it 
is the centre of the Commencement exercises. 
Its western wing contains a huge dining room, 
solving the harassing problem of Commons, its 
eastern portion is Sanders Theatre, and there is 
the transept, where are recorded on marble tablets 
136 names, though later researches give nearer 
170 as being the correct number. This lofty, 
vaulted chamber with its stained glass windows 
is an exquisite shrine to the youthful dead it 
honours. 

Near by is old Divinity Hall, on Divinity 
Avenue, built about the same time as University 
Hall, very dignified with its plain walls, the 
projecting central portion and pediment giving 
it character. Within it are the Chapel, rooms 
for the various classes, and accommodations for 
less than fifty students. In Francis Parkman's 

-h 197 -i- 



HARVARD AND CAMBRIDGE 

letters, written from here in the interval between 
1840-44, when he graduated, there is an amusing 
picture of the charms of the place, not exactly in 
keeping with its aims. Here is a passage: 

"Do you not envy me my hterary ease? — a 
sea-coal fire — a dressing-gown — slippers — a fa- 
vourite author; all set off by an occasional bottle 
of champagne or a bowl of stewed oysters at 
Wasburne's? This is the cream of existence. To 
he abed in the morning, till the sun has half- 
melted away the trees and castles on the 
window-panes, and Nigger Lewis's fire is almost 
burned out, listening meanwhile to the steps of 
the starved Divinities as they rush shivering and 
panting to their prayers and recitations — then go 
to lecture — find it a little too late, and adjourn 
to Joe Peabody's room for a novel, conversation 
and a morning glass of madeira." 

Why Parkman was living at Divinity Hall 
when he was not one of the " starving Divinities " 
neither Sister nor I could tell. 

The Divinity Library is close at hand, in a 
comfortable building, and across the street is 
the impressively splendid Andover Theological 
Seminary. Built in the Norman Gothic style, 
with a lofty and beautiful tower, of grey stone, 
Andover is witness to the ultimate prosperity of 
that group of indignant Calvinists who left Har- 
vard in a rage on account of her growing sym- 

ri"198 4- 



HARVARD AND CAMBRIDGE 

pathy with Unitarianism, departing to Andover, 
there to set up a school of their own. But the 
animosities died down, and a century later back 
came Andover, built itself this fine home, and is 
now affiliated with the University. 

There is another Chapel in Harvard, Holden 
Chapel, close to the Gates behind Stoughton, a 
small, plain oblong building buried in vines. It 
has long since ceased to be used for religious 
purposes, however. The musical societies meet 
there to practise, and several other clubs and 
societies make occasional use of its rooms. 

From Divinity we went to look at the Museum, 
a huge building with large wings, and full of 
various collections, among them botanical and 
zoological specimens of great value. We wished 
especially to see the glass flowers made by the 
Blaschka Brothers. 

Nothing more delicately lovely than these 
flowers and grasses exists, each perfect copies of 
the original, as they grow, with tiny rootlets, 
delicate frondy leaves, the coloured blossoms sway- 
ing on slender stalks, or standing bold and sturdy, 
blazing in scarlet or yellow, or holding seed 
vessels, round, oval, heart-shaped, spiked perhaps 
with threads of down, according to nature's in- 
finite variety. Each is a botanical specimen, faith- 
ful to the least detail, and each a rare work of art 
and an example of limitless patience. There are 

-h 199 -ir- 



HARVARD AND CAMBRIDGE 

also details of many of the plants and flowers, 
stamens, corollas, special forms of growth. 

" To think that we never came to see these 
wonders before!" exclaimed Sister, as we bent 
over the cases, and could not drag ourselves away. 
" Somehow ' glass flowers ' sounded distressingly 
ugly, stiff and vulgar. But these are like the 
imaginations of fairy tale or Arabian story rather 
than things actually made by human fingers." 

The Blaschkas were German. From the same 
race come the destroyers of Rheims and the 
violators of every human ideal of beauty and 
honour. It is, indeed, to wonder! 

We took a roundabout course through Holmes 
Field on our way back to the yard, past the house 
where once Dean Ames, of the Law School, would 
have given us a welcome, inimitable gracious, as 
was his own fine spirit, lighted by a mind whose 
clear shining was a constant delight. In this same 
part of the college grounds are the Law School, 
one or more laboratory buildings, Pierce Hall 
and the Gym. At Pierce the Engineers do their 
work, carrying it forward during the summer at 
Squam Lake in New Hampshire, where they live 
the simple life under tents. 

It was in the afternoon, after a luncheon with 
old friends, that we met, in front of the John 
Harvard statue, which is now no longer painted 
red as a sign of youthful humour and exuberance 

-J- 200-}- 



HARVARD AND CAMBRIDGE 

by the undergraduates, the Senior who had 
promised to escort us to Soldiers' Field, where we 
might see the drilling. 

Across the bridge above the lazy, shining river, 
and to the Gates we sauntered, while he gave 
us some of the reasons why Harvard was " the 
best there is." They were all excellent reasons, 
and related with the same joyous enthusiasm 
which we recalled in those students of the other 
colleges we had been seeing who had expressed 
like opinions in regard to their several Alma 
Maters. 

" You see. Harvard leaves a man free — treats 
him like a gentleman, and expects him to behave 
like one because he wants to, not because of a 
lot of rules and regulations. Maybe it goes to 
the head of the Freshmen, or some of them, at 
first, but they soon sober up — you have to work 
here, for all they seem to let you so alone. And 
a man's personal character is what counts in the 
end, though in the beginning some of the fellows 
think they can make the best clubs or frats by 
playing favourites. But they don't last. Some 
of the critics say that we don't have any class 
feeling or enthusiasm. Well, you get here some 
time when the Freshman- Sophomore football 
game is played, that's all. When I was a Fresh- 
man my particular chum was captain of the team, 
and we won — why, the class went crazy. There 

-h 201 -i- 



HARVARD AND CAMBRIDGE 

couldn't have been more doing if Harvard 'Var- 
sity had just hcked Yale to a standstill! That's 
a great day for the Freshmen, and all the favour- 
ite restaurants in Boston know they've done it 
again. The wind up is for the whole class to go 
to some theatre where they're giving a good 
musical show, with supper afterwards; nothing 
much, ale, rabbits, you know. It isn't the thing 
to get drunk." 

It certainly couldn't be the thing to get drunk 
when it came to that splendid body of men we 
saw that afternoon. At the gate we stopped to 
read the inscription on the marble shaft, voicing 
the dedication of the Field. At any time those 
words are solemn and moving. Now they wrung 
the heart 

To the Happy 

Memory of 

James Savage 

Charles Russell Lowell 

Edward Barry Dalton 

Stephen George Perkins 

James Jackson Lowell 

Robert Gould Shaw 

Friends, Comrades, Kinsmen, 

Who Died for their Country 

This Field is Dedicated by 

Henry Lee Higginson 

-j-202-*- 



HARVARD AND CAMBRIDGE 

Below is the following stanza: Emerson's: 

" Though love repine and reason chafe. 
There comes a voice without reply, 

"Tis man's perdition to he safe 

When for the truth he ought to die' " 

Here our student left us, to join his company, 
and we chmbed the steps to the very top, the 
promenade behind the columns. In the field below 
the khaki ranks marched, halted, manoeuvred to 
the brisk commands. Scattered on the seats were 
single figures and groups, some mere strangers to 
the boys below, others nearer by ties of blood 
and friendship, who sat there, feehng on their 
hearts the terrible clutch of war. 

Beyond the eye carried far; first to the river, 
reflecting the green and the blue of sky and tree 
and swelling shore, cut by boats that sped upon 
it, some rowed by girls, some paddled along by 
a lonely student, his brown back bared to the sun. 
Beyond to Holmes Field, where we saw the tennis 
courts, and figures in white dashing about on 
them. Still farther away the trees of the town, 
the buildings of the University, the charming 
streets and homes that surround it, farthest of 
all the hazy view of Boston, from which the 
familiar gleam of the golden dome was missing 
— another sign of war. 

-!-203-!- 



HARVARD AND CAMBRIDGE 

" Company — Halt ! " we heard from below. 

A brilliant, happy, sun-steeped sight, where 
peace and the normal hfe of human beings took 
full expression. 

And in the centre, those hundreds of boys in 
khaki, on the threshold of man's life, dedicate 
to that great battle for freedom that has never 
lacked recruits from America. Here indeed all 
of Harvard's students met on an equal footing, 
whether they came from the Gold Coast or from 
the barest of the dormitory rooms, or from some 
little boarding house in an obscure street in Cam- 
bridge. Whether they belonged to the most 
expensive of the little clubs, or clubless fought 
their way through Harvard, working at any job 
found for them by the Employment Office. 
Athlete or sybarite or grind, here they were, 
answering with the same impulse the call of their 
country. 



204 



CHAPTER VIII 

Wellesley College in Wellesley 

And now we were to visit our first woman's col- 
lege; for though there had been the Woman's 
College of Brown, and Radcliffe at Harvard, 
these were merely additions to an established fact. 
Wellesley was the independent result of a single 
inspiration, it had grown on its own stalk, the 
flower of an enthusiastic belief in woman's right 
to the higher education and the conviction that 
she would show herself capable of supporting the 
means to it. Vassar is its elder sister, but the 
woman's college was still sufficiently experimental 
to make the founding of Wellesley something of 
a glorious adventure. 

Wellesley has been most fortunate in her sit- 
uation. Around her are the old villages of Need- 
ham, Wellesley and Wellesley Hills, with their old 
farmhouses, many of these over a century old. 
The Charles winds by her, spanned by many a 
lovely bridge of wood or stone. Forests are 
near, and hills and lakes the companions of every 
walk. On one of the fairest of these lakes she 
stands, amid great trees and wide-spread lawns. 
Country roads lead away into the charming New 

-f-205-i- 



WELLESLEY COLLEGE IN WELLESLEY 

England environs, roads that call to the tramping 
foot with irresistible appeal; and never was there 
a lake more winning for the boat or the canoe 
or the swimmer than Lake Waban. 

It is an old section, this township of Wellesley, 
a place of quiet history and gradual growth, of 
old families living on their estates for generations. 
Nowadays Boston has come closer and closer, 
and Wellesley has plenty of manufacturing on 
her hands. But the signs of her peaceful farming 
past are still evident, her river banks are still 
green and tree-beshaded. If the girls who study 
at the college can get to Boston on Saturday 
afternoon for the matinee in less than a half 
hour, yet within the college grounds it is difficult 
to believe that a city exists anywhere, still less 
that it is barely fourteen miles away. 

The actual building that was the original Wel- 
lesley College, and which was almost the hand- 
work of Henry Fowle Durant, the founder, has 
vanished in the great fire of 1914. Long before 
that it had come to be known as College Hall, 
and many of the activities of its early years had 
been passed on to newer buildings, sturdy and 
beautiful growth about that noble parent stock. 
But it was the heart of Wellesley, and to it all 
the traditions of the college clung. It had 
been built with a real passion, with a sense of 
consecration. 

-f-206-i- 



WELLESLEY COLLEGE IN WELLESLEY 

The story of how Wellesley came into being 
is well worth the telling. 

Back in 1855, when the Durants had been mar- 
ried but a year, Mr. Durant cast about for some 
lovely site for a future home. The region around 
Natick attracted him, and he bought land in 
Needham, as it was then. The place had its 
traditions, dating back to John Eliot and his 
converted Indian chiefs, Pegan and Waban, after 
whom the lake and the hill are named, that hill 
from which we looked across at such lengths of 
opal distances on a shimmering morning in May; 
a favourite outlook of Wellesley girls. 

This Natick is the scene of Mrs. Harriet 
Beecher Stowe's " Old Town Folks," and was a 
beloved retreat of hers. 

For several years the Durants spent their 
summers at Wellesley, adding to the estate from 
time to time. There was one son, and for this 
child Mr. Durant planned a beautiful home, with 
a great house on the hill above the lake, where 
now the gables and peaked tower-roof of Stone 
Hall make a notable effect. 

And then, after a short illness, the little son 
died, in 1863, leaving the home desolate. 

Mr. Durant was a lawj^er in Boston, and a 
famous one, who was said never to have lost 
a case. He was vital, energetic and magnetic. 
Whatever he did he did with all his soul. His 

-i-207-i~ 



WELLESLEY COLLEGE IN WELLESLEY 

interest in religion, up to the time when he lost 
his son, had been what may be called academic. 
But now he underwent a real conversion. He 
threw up his law practice, saying he could not 
reconcile the law and the Gospel. He began to 
conduct revival meetings; and he everlastingly 
shocked and offended Boston, going coolly and 
with perfect good breeding on the way of salva- 
tion, according to its type. It was all very well 
to be a Christian. But this noise and publicity, 
dear, dear! And Boston looked the other way. 

He seems to have been a sort of Billy Sunday 
of that time. He was a layman, to be sure, but 
like Sunday his sermons and appeals were de- 
livered in the vernacular. He threw all the train- 
ing and temperament that had made him ir- 
resistible at the Bar into his new work. He 
gathered great crowds and made passionate ap- 
peals that had startling results in bringing to his 
fold men of fame and position. He refused to 
accept invitations to preach unless the ministers 
agreed to co-operate with him, and the invitation 
to come was by acclaim. 

From all contemporary accounts, Durant was 
a human, lovable, fiery man, handsome and dis- 
tinguished in appearance, a force wherever he 
went. 

In 1867 he had been made a trustee of Mt. 
Holyoke. His wife gave the school ten thousand 

-e-208-!- 



WELLESLEY COLLEGE IN WELLESLEY 

dollars for building a library. Mt. Holyoke was 
unable to take care of the numbers who applied 
for admission, hundreds of girls being turned 
away every year. And the idea of founding a 
new place of instruction came to Durant. 

To think was to act, and in 1870 the charter 
of Wellesley Female Seminary was signed by 
Governor Claflin. In 1873 the name was changed 
to the present title. Already the building of the 
great house was going on, the cornerstone having 
been laid in 1871. 

"While the walls were rising he kept work- 
man's hours. Long before the family breakfast 
he was with the builders." 

Husband and wife toiled together, early and 
late, leaving no detail unwatched. And on Sep- 
tember 8, 1875, the college opened its doors to 
three hundred and fourteen scholars. They came 
by what Wellesley calls " the long way " now, 
through the gate where the charming Gothic 
Lodge strikes its collegiate note, up the splendid 
avenue shaded by elms and purple beeches. It is 
a magnificent approach, and any one who goes 
to Wellesley for the first impression should go 
that way. 

This then was the romantic beginning of 
Wellesley. It was founded by a man who wanted 
above everything to bring souls to Christ, and 
there was plenty of criticism from the early stu- 

-^209^- 



WELLESLEY COLLEGE IN WELLESLEY 

dents and the professors as to the methods he 
adopted. He made himself more or less ridiculous 
to many of the girls, and probably defeated his 
aim to some extent, by his constant harping on 
the subject of salvation. Every day had its 
Prayers, its Silent Hour, its Bible Class, its 
Church, its second Prayer Meeting, its second 
Silent Hour, and goodness knows what else in 
that way. There was also Domestic Work, the 
girls doing much of the work about the hall as 
part of the curriculum. 

Nowadays Wellesley is of course entirely mod- 
ern in her teaching and her attitude toward her 
students. But she is proud of her religious begin- 
ning, and the faith of Christ is very living with 
her. In the new building on the hill where College 
Hall stood, not only the old cornerstone, with its 
Bible, has been used, but also the keystone to 
the arch, with its deeply carved I. H. S. 

For all that religion was the dominating factor 
with Durant, he had a fine appreciation of the 
value of the sciences, and from the first Wellesley 
has been strong in that direction. He also be- 
lieved in good health and exercise as a means to 
it, and the fine Gymnasium, built in 1909, shows 
that Wellesley has splendidly developed her means 
for physical well-being. 

Wellesley, to the outside world, means more 
than anything else the lovely pageantry of Tree 

-i-210-«- 



WELLESLEY COLLEGE IN WELLESLEY 

Day and the Float. But Wellesley is a hard- 
working college, with high standards of scholar- 
ship; it is the student publications that are the 
first to visit displeasure upon the lazy and the 
careless. 

There is surely one thing that every Wellesley 
girl must learn, as unconsciously as she draws her 
breath, and that is the love of nature. 

Those hilly, sloping grounds in their spring 
dress of green and gold, with the faint rose hues 
of new oak leaves tinting the woodlands, and with 
the daffodils nodding in the grass — even a few 
hours of that exquisiteness are unforgettable, and 
four years of Wellesley, from the flaming of her 
autumns to the splendour of her summers, through 
the white snows and frozen stillness of the lake 
in winter, what a march of beauty they are, and 
what enchanting memories they must give! 

We two, walking through the flowering shrub- 
bery, and down over lawns to the tree-edged 
beauty of Longfellow Fountain, that is like a 
pool where Diana might come to bathe, with the 
spray of its slender fountain blowing idly in the 
breeze, we stopped and sighed for very joy of 
seeing. Above the slope that bends to the pool 
we could see the water of the lake taking the 
sky's blue, and a perfume was on the wind that 
touched on ecstasy. 

" I don't wonder that Wellesley has the name 



WELLESLEY COLLEGE IN WELLESLEY 

of playing more delightfully than any other col- 
lege," Sister declared, as we lingered by the mur- 
murous waters. " Was there ever such a play- 
ground as her campus? " 

I suppose the chief impression is that of spa- 
ciousness. These hundreds of acres are so free, 
so unspoiled. The wide campus spreading below 
the new Administration Building that is rising on 
the hill where College Hall once stood is a real 
sea of green, rippling to the bordering trees and 
the edge of the lake. Wide avenues and broad 
walks lead away, curving into beckoning distances. 
Dotted about are the little, charming houses of 
the student societies, and the stately academic 
buildings, crowning the slopes, ending the vistas. 
There are golf links and tennis courts and a base- 
ball diamond. And always the lake, with the 
snug, attractive boat house, the pretty canoes and 
rowing shells. 

Wellesley is democratic. Plenty of rich girls 
go to her, and many of her students are by no 
means desperately bent on acquiring much knowl- 
edge. They come to the college because it allures 
them, because they want to have four years of 
college life and college sports, quite as much as 
for a degree. But they are not snobs. 

" People find some fault with us because they 
say we are too * rough and ready,' " laughed a 
student. "We like to live in our sport clothes 

-j-212-«- 







A Charming Path and Steps Lead JJown from 
Stone Hall 



WELLESLEY COLLEGE IN WELLESLEY 

and tennis shoes; we like to swim and row and 
play ball. Athletics are the great meeting ground 
for the undergrads. There is not a girl who 
doesn't take some interest in the sports, and a 
girl is popular here not because she can spend a 
lot of money, but because she's a * good sport,' 
and able to represent her class in the dances and 
games and contests, to be simple and straight- 
forward and without a hint of affectation." 

A healthy, sane, happy and thoroughly busy 
life is the Wellesley Hfe, as we got ghmpses of 
it, and as we heard it described. 

Before telling about the special joys and inter- 
ests of the students, some picture of the college 
as it is in its buildings seems important. We 
did not follow any plan in seeing them, perhaps 
there is no definite " tour," of the grounds. We 
simply walked to the spot that attracted us, and 
from it to some other, until we had enjoyed a 
complete if haphazard view — but the oaks and 
the lawns and the shining water remained the 
strongest impression of the college incarnation. 

First we approached the New Library, built 
in 1909. It has a beautiful Doric fa9ade with 
fine pillars and bronze doors. The broad steps 
are perfectly adjusted to give the right effect 
of welcome, and the entrance is happily adorned 
by two bronze statues. The best methods rule in 
the interior arrangements, the reading room sug- 

-i-213-e- 



WELLESLEY COLLEGE IN WELLESLEY 

gesting a delightful combination of comfort and 
the stimulus toward work. 

Stone Hall, one of the dormitories, is now the 
oldest building on the campus, though Music 
Hall runs it close, the cornerstones of both being 
laid in 1880. Next year came Simpson Cottage, 
the college hospital, and Waban Cottage belongs 
to this same period. In the autumn of this year 
Mr. Durant died, and the second President of 
Wellesley, Miss Alice E. Freeman, took charge 
shortly afterwards. She is perhaps the best 
known of the six women who have been at the 
helm there. Three new dormitories, Norembuga, 
Freeman and Eliot, testified to the growing needs 
of the college for room to house its students. 
Wood Cottage came in the next administration. 
These " cottages " are charmingly homelike and 
attractive inside and out. Some of them have 
been remodelled from other uses, one at least has 
been moved up from the village, but they have a 
certain harmony of simplicity and hominess. 

The Farsworth Art Building, dominating a 
fine slope, with an interesting treatment of its 
entrance, is one of the most successful of Welles- 
ley's many beautiful structures. Another lovely 
thing is the Houghton Memorial Chapel, a real 
triumph in college chapels, with particularly 
exquisite doorway and windows. And the Whitin 
Observatory makes another beauty spot on the 



WELLESLEY COLLEGE IN WELLESLEY 

grounds. Looking up the long slope of the hill, 
to the dome and wings and arched entrance of 
this gem of a building, with dark pines beyond 
it, you get a fascinating effect. 

Music Hall, with its many pinnacles, has been 
helped out by Bilhngs, with a concert hall and 
classrooms, so that music gets a great deal of 
space. In the Chapel the service is rendered 
with much care to detail. 

" It is a rare treat to hear the vested choir, 
and see the girls march in and out, and hear 
how fresh and sweet are their young voices, and 
how much training they show. You ought to 
stay for that," one of the girls told us. But there 
is testimony to the effect that the manifold sounds 
of practising that issue from the many windows 
of Music Hall are not quite so harmonious. The 
famous Hencoop that was quickly put up after the 
fire to fill in some degree the huge hole left by the 
burning of College Hall, and which was close to 
Music Hall, suffered much from Wellesley devo- 
tion to music. 

You are always getting back to the water at 
Wellesley. A charming path and steps lead down 
in front of Stone Hall, checkered with sun and 
shadow, and we went along it just for the pure 
joy of treading the pretty way. A laughing 
group was coming up as we went down, most 
of them in white, and the picture was complete. 

-e-215-^- 



WELLESLEY COLLEGE IN WELLESLEY 

Girls everywhere, of course. On the tennis 
grounds, on the links, on the lake. Arm in arm, 
talking eagerly, they run up the steps or saunter 
between the buildings. They shout at each other 
from the windows of the dormitories, and when 
we looked into the Gym they were there too, in 
natty suits, swaying and jumping. 

War has claimed their attention, though in a 
different way from that at the men's colleges. 
Many of the students are taking nursing and first 
aid, others are tackling the problems of agricul- 
;ture. Their problem is to restore and to create, 
not to destroy. Wellesley has always done a 
great deal of social endeavour work. Inside the 
gate in one part of the grounds is a kindergarten 
school, where the entertaining and hvely young- 
sters are taught by those girls preparing for work 
as teachers. There are student clubs and societies 
that exist solely for the purpose of learning 
and of practising enlightened service to the poor. 
But the war has swept much of all this work 
into its own circle of need, and in one way or 
another all of Wellesley is preparing to serve 
or already serving the country. 

The students at Wellesley have touched high- 
water mark in their Tree Day exercises, and 
they spare no time and no trouble in making this 
pageant a thing of unforgettable beauty and per- 
fect adjustment to the scene. The costumes are 

H-216-i- 



WELLESLEY COLLEGE IN WELLESLEY 

dreams of delight — the colours, turning and twist- 
ing with the long march across the lawns and 
under the trees, meet and mingle and dissolve 
in a shimmering rainbow splendour. Floating hair 
frames the young faces, floating garments adorn 
the young limbs. After the procession comes the 
dancing — and for months Wellesley girls have 
been twirling and stepping and bending and 
pausing in lovely preparation for that dancing. 
In groups and singly, blown by the wind across 
the grassy spaces or charging toward the spec- 
tators like youthful Amazons, to the sound of 
music that seems to be breathed from the whisper- 
ing trees and to change into motion as it strikes 
on their ears, the pretty creatures live before you 
with an effect of fairy wonder. It seems im- 
possible that the scene has not been conjured by 
some Merlin charm, and that the tree that has 
been planted with all these stately ceremonies 
will not immediately be transformed into some 
jewel-hung princess or turn out to be hamadryads 
straight from the Elysian Fields. 

The tree planting is something of a ceremony, 
while the spade that is used year after year by 
the planters owes itself to the class of '81, and 
especially to the individual efforts of Florence 
Morse Kingsley, the novehst, who was a member 
of that class. 

For several years there had been a tree for 
-J- 217 -J- 



WELLESLEY COLLEGE IN WELLESLEY 

each Freshman class, planted and selected by 
Mr. Durant. The class of '81 wanted something 
better. They had heard that the customary 
golden-leafed evergreen had been assigned them, 
with a place under the Library window, but they 
didn't want it. They wanted an elm, planted 
right out in front where it would have room to 
grow and be sure to last for a hundred years 
at least. And it was Miss Kingsley who was 
chosen to break this wish to the founder. 

The idea caught his fancy. He favoured the 
buying of a special and " the best possible " spade 
for the planting, and agreed with the proposal 
that there should be an address to this instrument, 
as well as a class procession and song. It all 
went off with spirit, and the elm of '81 is a 
flourishing witness to the real beginning of Tree 
Day. 

The idea of a pageant did not develop until 
'89, when the Seniors gave a masque and the 
Freshmen a dance. Since then each year sees 
something more elaborate than the last, though 
each year the very acme of perfection seems to 
be achieved. 

Wellesley has its Shakespearean Society, with 
a beautiful building in the Elizabethan style. 
Every other year it gives a Shakespeare play at 
Commencement, and on the alternate seasons either 
the Art Society, or Tau Zeta Epsilon gives a series 

-i-218-i- 



i 



WELLESLEY COLLEGE IN WELLESLEY 

of living pictures after the Old Masters, at its 
Studio Reception. 

Then there is the masque of the Phi Sigma, 
before the Christmas vacation, and the Zeta Alpha 
and the Classical Society alternate in giving a 
poetical play or legend at Commencement, always 
an exquisite production. The Classical Society's 
offering is always a Greek play, and is one of the 
best managed things at the college. 

One of the most spontaneous and perhaps the 
jolHest of Wellesley merrymakings is the celebra- 
tion of May Day. The Seniors spend the morning 
rolling their hoops, with shrieks of excitement 
and much frantic racing and breathless exertion, 
and in the afternoon there is a great deal of ice 
cream eaten, cones being the preferred method of 
serving the dainty. 

" There used to be scrubbing of all the statues 
in College Hall," a graduate told us. " The girls 
would be up by six in the morning, mops and 
pails in every hand, and set to work with a will, 
especially on Aunt Harriet, that heroic figure in 
her large chair, the Miss Martineau by Anne 
Whitney. But now that has had to be given up, 
since the fire destroyed the whole group." 

Naturally only a part of the college can be 
members of the different societies and the Greek 
Letter clubs, and have the benefit of the pretty 
club houses. This is natural, but it left many girls 

-»-219-J- 



WELLESLEY COLLEGE IN WELLESLEY 

with no club centre until the Barn Swallows be- 
came an institution. It began as an Everybody's 
Club, and asked to be given the barn " to play 
in." So the name was a natural result. This 
generous club, to which any student in the college 
may belong, gives entertainments of its own in 
the big barn, plays, operas, anything that strikes 
the fancy of the members. 

There are many other interests that result in 
the forming of the undergraduates into smaller 
or larger groups. The Little Socialist Club is 
one, so is the Scribblers'. Then there are the 
editorial-minded girls, who publish the class peri- 
odicals and papers, the Prelude, the News, the 
Magazine. 

Then there is the " Float." No story of Wel- 
lesley would be complete that did not speak of 
that event, when the lake is a scene of wonder, 
when Chinese junks sail jerkily beside slender 
Indian canoes manned by dusky maidens in 
Indian costume, when gondolas ride beside shal- 
lops seemingly constructed of flowers, and when 
the lithe young rowers in their shells sweep up 
and down the shining water in delightful rivalry. 
Then the crews gather in the famous " star 
pattern " and sing the songs written for the 
occasion, and the crowds on the banks applaud — 
it is one of the few times when outside spectators 
are admitted to Wellesley's amusements. The 

-+220-i- 



WELLESLEY COLLEGE IN WELLESLEY 

singing always ends with the Lake Song and 
Ahna Mater. Then the Hunnewell Cup, for 
the competition of the crews, is presented, and 
in the falKng darkness fireworks wake to brilUant 
hfe across the lake. 

There is a Field Day at Wellesley in the late 
autumn, when the season for the outdoor sports 
draws to an end, with contests between the various 
teams and classes. Golf, tennis, rowing, field 
hockey, basket ball, running, archery, and baseball 
are the organised sports, and competition is keen. 
There are no intercollegiate games. 

Riding is much liked by the students, and so 
is walking, and the country invites to both. In 
winter there is skating and snowshoeing, and 
skiing is coming in. 

An eager, happy life it is, with a fine balance 
between work and play, between the mind and 
the body. Sister and I looked with a little touch 
of envy at the students, spending their four years 
in this little paradise of Massachusetts country. 
The college has long since given over its cramp- 
ing rules and supervision. The student body is 
largely self-governing, and has adopted the honour 
system with shining success. It is trusted, and 
it proves worthy of the trust. 

Wellesley is growing and developing with every 
year. She drew new inspiration from her fire, 
instead of despair. She is stronger and more 

-?-221-<- 



WELLESLEY COLLEGE IN WELLESLEY 

beautiful because of it, and she knows her strength 
as she did not know it till the tragedy befell, 
The old bricks that have gone into the building 
of the new walls have brought the power of 
tradition and of history with them, have passed 
on that spirit of consecration that saw her birth. 
But she is filled with vital young life, she has 
no fear of making experiments, and no one can 
go to her without feeling that she is thoroughly 
American and modern in the best use of those 
words. 

As we drove off, down the " Long Way " we 
heard behind us a medley of joyous sounds. The 
girls were playing a baseball game, and the 
laughter, the cheers, the calls and shouts made us 
laugh too. 

" It's a happy place," I said, as Sister and I 
smiled at each other. 



222 



CHAPTER IX 

Bowdoin and Old Brunswick 

It is always a surprise to find Portland, Maine, 
so close to Boston, for the city itself, the country 
round about and the whole feel of things is so 
utterly different, that you expect, in looking for- 
ward to this difference, and in spite of previous 
experience, to spend at least twelve hours on the 
train. 

So, all prematurely, we found ourselves at the 
familiar station. But we wasted no time. We 
hastened to get up into the town and to order 
one of those lobsters that give to Portland a rosy 
hue of its own, before proceeding onward to old 
Brunswick, on the Androscoggin, where a small 
college with a very high reputation for scholarship 
was to be our next point of observation. A 
college that had a special interest to us, since 
here it was that Hawthorne had lived as a youth- 
ful student, and laid the foundation of his won- 
derful style in the study and practice of Latin, 
in which he delighted. 

Going anywhere in Maine is a joyful experi- 
ence, for all that roads are often bad and the 
grains usually uncomfortable when it comes to 

-+•223-*- 



BOWDOIN AND OLD BRUNSWICK 

short runs. The state is a fascinating one, 
whether you see it hung with fog or dripping 
with rain or sparkling in " real Maine weather," 
as the proud inhabitant says of it at such mo- 
ments, with a Californian touch of proprietorship 
in weather conditions. 

The few miles that lie between Portland and 
Brunswick are delightfully crowded with pine 
trees, picturesquely scattered with villages and 
chock-full of exhilarating odours of the sea and 
the sun-steeped needles of the evergreens. Much 
of the country is flat, but Maine is never entirely 
without a hill or a bluff in the ofRng. Near 
Brunswick there are plenty of both, and from 
these bluffs there are views in endless variety of 
the island-strewn sea, the cloudy White Moun- 
tains, the river running swiftly towards its falls 
— a land of stretches of woodland and of sand, 
of a deeply indented coastline, a land where the 
spirit of the wilderness yet lingers, not to be 
driven out in centuries of human occupation. 

Brunswick gives you a splendid welcome in 
that great wide street of hers that runs up to 
the college, whose tree-hedged campus makes a 
terminus to the vista that made us regret giving 
the necessary time to dumping our luggage at 
the Bowdoin Hotel, and removing some of the 
smoke of travel that had blown freely into the 
car during our forty-five minute transit. 

-J- 224) -J- 



BOWDOIN AND OLD BRUNSWICK 

Bowdoin is small, but if ever a college looked 
vigourous and competent and complete it is that 
Maine institution, that had so much trouble get- 
ting started more than a century ago. The 
campus is beautifully ordered, and every building 
on it has beauty. Its trees are large and plentiful, 
not to be wondered at when you think that it has 
had the example of Brunswick before its eyes, 
Brunswick with its rows of magnificent elms and 
maples. 

We entered the college grounds through the 
severely architectural Gateway of the Class of 
1878, a gate that struck us as singularly appro- 
priate to this college, that has no fuss and feathers 
to it, but is devoted to hard work and clean fun, 
an outdoor life and simple habits. The pillars 
are brick on granite foundations, with stone globes 
as finials; a graceful iron arch uniting the two 
centre and higher columns. 

To the right was Memorial Building, raised to 
the men of Bowdoin who fought or died for 
the Union. Built of granite, with pointed Gothic 
arched windows and doorways, it is exactly right 
for its purpose. Inside there are offices and 
lecture rooms on the ground floor. On the 
second there is a finely proportioned hall where 
exhibitions are held. Here we saw busts and 
portraits of various professors and presidents of 
the college, as well as some of the graduates who 

-»-225-i- 



BOWDOIN AND OLD BRUNSWICK 

have become world famous. Here also are the 
bronze tablets inscribed with the names of the 
soldiers and sailors who went from Bowdoin — 
two hundred and ninety of them. 

Opposite Memorial is the oldest of the college 
buildings, the first one that was built, and the 
only survivor of that first period. Massachusetts 
Hall is of the square Georgian Colonial type that 
lends distinction to so many a street in Portland 
or Salem, /lit has the white window and door 
frames, the small portico with its pillars and 
balcony atop. A roomy, handsome house. Inside 
it the old fireplace is still in working order, though 
probably not in use. It has the ovens and the 
hanging crane and utensils used by the first Presi- 
dent, who lived here — as did all the rest of the 
college, for in this single building were housed 
the students, the lecture and recitation rooms, the 
Chapel, the dining hall, the library. 

When Bowdoin was incorporated, in 1794, 
Maine was still a part of Massachusetts, and so 
remained for another quarter of a century. Be- 
fore the incorporation the people in the northern 
part of the Colony decided that it was time to 
have a college a little closer at hand than Yale 
or Harvard, and the various towns and cities 
started to bid for the seat of learning. They 
put up good arguments, and the talk and the 
disputes went merrily on for months and months, 

-j-226-i- 



BOWDOIN AND OLD BRUNSWICK 

even for years. It was not till 1798, however, 
four years after Brunswick had won the allot- 
ment, that work was actually begun on Massa- 
chusetts Hall, and not till 1802 that the building 
was finished and equipped for business. James 
Bowdoin, Governor of Massachusetts, distin- 
guished among other things as the main influence 
in the founding of the American Institute of Arts 
and Sciences, whose presidency he held till death, 
was the man honoured by the new college. He 
was already dead, but the matter was put up 
to his son, with the very definite hope that the 
college would come in for some recognition from 
the family, a hope that was not disappointed. 
This son was himself distinguished in his service 
to the government, serving both in Spain and 
France as Minister of the United States. While 
in these countries he made a valuable collection 
of books and pictures, as well as of minerals, and 
these all went to the college, besides tracts of 
land, and money. 

So at last Bowdoin was well started, nor 
has she ever faltered since that somewhat slow 
beginning. 

President and students have long since moved 
out of Massachusetts, which now contains the office 
of the Dean, that of the Treasurer, and the Faculty 
room. 

" There is also the Cleveland Cabinet of miner- 
-H-227-i- 



BOWDOIN AND OLD BRUNSWICK 

ology and natural history," we were told, but we 
had been seeing a good many museum specimens 
in our various college visits, so we left this one 
unseen; particularly as we wanted very much 
to view the unusually good art collection owned 
by Bowdoin. 

" You can see things all day liig in the open 
air, and not be tired, but begin to look at collec- 
tions indoors, and it's all over with you," Sister 
murmured, and I agreed. 

Bowdoin has three dormitories, Winthrop, 
Maine (here Hawthorne roomed for his Sopho- 
more year) and Appleton Halls, running along 
the left side of the campus in what is known as 
Chapel Bow, as the three are divided by Chapel. 
They are four-story buildings of brick and stone, 
extremely attractive as seen from the outside. 
Alongside the path runs a fine hedge and the 
trees march steadily with it. They were filled 
with orioles and robins as we went under them 
that spring day, the song and the fragrances were 
drifting into those open windows, where each 
student has his bedroom and study as well as, 
be it added, a' large closet. ■ 

" Harvard and Yale are wonde^rful, of course, 
but there is an appeal here that they do not 
have," I said, as we walked on to the Chapel. 
" No straining here to see who can find the most 
luxury and spend the most money doing it. No 

-^228^- 



BOWDOIN AND OLD BRUNSWICK 

padded soft spots for our young men in this 
delightful college, but fine, clean, homelike rooms, 
the waving of tree branches, the constant call 
to the out-of-doors instead of to the city. Clubs 
and fun, certainly, athletics as a matter of course 
— but above all that greatest lesson that we 
Americans need to learn, that you can get the 
best things in life without being rich, and that 
luxury is the last thing to wish for your 
sons." 

After this wise speech, and Sister's nod of 
acquifescence, we entered the Chapel, that Chapel 
in the Romanesque style, with twin towers that 
rise slenderly into the air, graceful and white, for 
the building is of undressed granite, which gives 
the campus a quite charming touch of the un- 
expected. Inside the effect is equally surprising, 
for here is a chamber like those so often found 
in English college Chapels, fashioned like a 
cathedral choir. The broad aisle leads straight 
to the pulpit, with a panelled screen behind it, 
beyond which is the organ in a fine arch. On 
either side of the aisle, facing each other across 
its space, the seats rise tier on tier. Behind 
these the walls are decorated with mural paintings 
that are chiefly copies of the Old Masters, while 
above the rows of arched windows admit Hght and 
air. The ceiling is decorated with transverse 
beams. 

-+•229-^- 



BOWDOIN AND OLD BRUNSWICK 

" Shouldn't think any boy would want to cut 
Chapel here," was our thought. And we wished 
that we might attend a service and hear the 
organ peal in the narrow, lofty place. 

Besides the Chapel itself, there are other rooms 
in the building, where the Christian Association 
of the college meets, and in one wing is the 
Psychological Laboratory, with Banister Hall in 
the rear. But just what Banister Hall is we 
did not discover. 

Facing Memorial and Massachusetts Halls, 
across the long stretch of the campus, is Hub- 
bard Hall, the college Library. Here was an echo 
of Princeton — the fine Gothic tower that pro- 
jected from the body of the building, with its 
pointed finials, rising to a hundred feet. The 
Library was given to the college by General and 
Mrs. Hubbard, and is thoroughly up to date as 
well as being a particularly beautiful building. 
The reading rooms are delightful, the books most 
get-at-able, and the lighting is perfect. The 
building holds some notable collections, the Long- 
fellow among them. 

Two more buildings stand on the campus, 
which is some twenty acres in extent, with lovely 
lawns, flat as a table, crossed by paths that make 
a star pattern. Another Memorial Gate, of the 
Class of 1875, admits you to its pleasantness, a 
delightful gate of white pillars, standing tall and 

-J- 230-^ 




The Severely Arehitectural Gatewai/ of the Class 
of 1878 



BOWDOIN AND OLD BRUNSWICK 

pale against a background made by two solid 
rows of trees. 

The remaining buildings are the efficient Mary- 
Frances Searles Scientific Building, of brick and 
stone, a large and well balanced structure that 
amply fulfils its purpose, and the exquisite 
Walker Art Building, in the style of the Italian 
Renaissance, one of McKim, Mead & White's 
successes, and that is saying much. 

" Here is a little building before which I should 
be willing to sit in admiration for a considerable 
space of time," Sister remarked, as we paused 
before it, enjoying the effect of the loggia-like 
entrance with the double Doric columns support- 
ing the central arch, and the grouped columns 
within. Fine statues of bronze stand in niches 
in either wing, copies of antiques; and the steps 
are flanked by stone lions hke those of the Loggia 
dei Lanzi. 

It is amazing to find so fine a collection as is 
here contained. In the first place the walls have 
been decorated in the sculpture hall by men who 
are world famed — John La Farge, Elihu Vedder, 
Abbott Thayer, Kenyon Cox. Then there is a 
remarkably good group of the Barbizon painters, 
with a ravishing Corot among them, and a fine 
selection of our own painters, represented by 
Winslow Homer, J. Appleton Brown and others 
of that time, so great a time. There are also 

-+-231-f- 



BOWDOIN AND OLD BRUNSWICK 

beautiful Flemish tapestries, wonderful old 
pieces of Saracen armour, medieval and modern 
weapons, and lovely specimens of glass and 
pottery. 

It is not too big, it is not too crowded, it is 
beautifully arranged, that collection, and we went 
about looking at it with extreme enjoyment. In 
the Bowdoin Hall we discovered a fine cast of 
the Marble Faun, leaning in his immortal attitude 
of youthful carelessness upon the supporting 
pillar, and looking out upon the world with that 
mysterious suggestion of freedom from human 
cares and burdens that attracted Hawthorne and 
inspired the romance written around him. 

Besides this notable group of buildings on 
the quadrangle are others, the magnificent great 
Gymnasium and Athletic Building, with its in- 
door tennis courts and great hall for gymnastics, 
its showers and paraphernalia of all descriptions, 
Adams Hall, for the medical section of the college, 
and the Observatory. The old Gymnasium has 
been transformed into a plant to heat and light 
the college. 

Down a green-arched path where the pine trees 
met overhead we walked to the Whittier Athletic 
Field. Here is the Hubbard Grand Stand, dedi- 
cated in 1904, when Bowdoin celebrated the cen- 
tenary of Hawthorne. It is solidly built of stone 
and concrete, with accommodations below the tiers 

-J- 232 -J- 



BOWDOIN AND OLD BRUNSWICK 

of spectators' seats for the athletes who do the 
work. Up to now we had not seen many of the 
students, for it was afternoon, and the campus 
was deserted by all but a few who were putting 
in some work at the Library or crossing to the 
dormitories from work in one of the academic 
buildings. But here we found the drilling in full 
swing, as at the other colleges. Townsfolk sat 
in the seats, looking on and making comments. 
The boys were a splendid looking lot, tall and 
springy of step. When they stood at ease a 
ripple of laughter came from them; their spirits 
were clearly of the best. 

Bowdoin has eight fraternity houses, and the 
Greek Letter Societies are in high favour, both 
as to the student body and the Faculty. We 
saw them all, charming homes, comfortable and 
cosy, standing among the pines or under the elms, 
along Brunswick's pleasant streets. Here the 
young men can entertain their friends, here they 
have their meals and here they do much of their 
playing. There is also the Bowdoin Club, run 
for the same general purposes, and there are other 
organisations, of which, of course, the athletic 
is dominant in interest and numbers. The 
Dramatic Club, the Masque and Gown, gives 
entertainments that are thoroughly enjoyed by 
the audiences, and superlatively delighted in by 
the actors. There is the Ibis Club, small and 

-^233-^- 



BOWDOIN AND OLD BRUNSWICK 

select, with special aims, and the Glee and Man- 
dolin. There is a Student Council, which manages 
the affairs of the college in those matters that lie 
between the undergraduates and the Faculty, and 
of course there is a Debating Council, as it is 
called. 

Bowdoin's interests, aside from the business 
of being at college, are tremendously out of doors. 
The river makes a wonderful playground both in 
spring and summer, when canoes and boats are in 
constant motion, and in winter, when the skating 
is on. The ocean, or that part of it called Casco 
Bay, is three miles away, and there are endless 
calls to the men who like to tramp through the 
woods afoot, to fish, to swim. The skiing and 
snowshoeing clubs are lively organisations, sure 
of getting all the practice they want, for you can 
count on a Maine winter. 

Tennis and golf are both of them college sports. 
We passed the courts near the Observatory, and 
all of them were occupied by active figures in 
white, flashing back and forth, swinging their 
arms for violent whacks at the ball. The students 
are particularly athletic looking — they are tanned 
even in the spring, for the sun on snow will do 
some pretty good burning. 

We wanted to see something of the old town, 
and now walked back along Maine Street, whose 
splendid width — it used to be known as the 



BOWDOIN AND OLD BRUNSWICK 

Twelve Rod Road — remains a fresh and delight- 
ful surprise no matter how often you see it, and 
took the bridge road, to hang over the railing 
and watch the Falls, that were particularly high 
after the long wet season. The water rushed and 
roared, a medley of foam and swirling eddies. 
The banks spread low on either side, and fac- 
tories loomed on the Brunswick bank. Over the 
bridge is the village of Topham. 

But our way had nothing to do with Topham, 
and we turned our back on it forthwith, and 
went back up into the town, to find Federal 
Street, where Longfellow and Harriet Beecher 
Stowe lived — it was in this town that her famous 
story was written. But the river proved as yet 
too alluring, and we walked on up and up, past 
the houses and the factories, past the pretty boat 
house, and to where at last the fields merged into 
woods. 

We found what Hawthorne had found, the 
" shadowy little stream . . . still wandering 
riverward through the forest," which now bears 
his name. 

" I wish we had time to follow it up," I said, 
as we listened to its singing, " and that we had 
a rod and could try for a trout. It would be 
pleasant to catch a trout here, where he used 
to fish, and where Horatio Bridge and he used 
to talk of their futures, and Bridge was sure 

-i-235-*- 



BOWDOIN AND OLD BRUNSWICK 

that Plawthorne would write fiction. Did Long- 
fellow, too, wander here, and recite his poems in 
the making? Boys, all of them, then." 

There is always something unreal to others in 
the youth of any one past middle age. In the 
youth of a man or a woman who has become known 
to the world at large, long after youth, there is 
something of the miraculous. You know it to be 
true, and yet it is a fairy story to you. 

The main street of Brunswick, to which we 
returned, and to which everything in Brunswick 
must necessarily return, used to be an Indian trail, 
from the falls on the river to what is now Maquoit 
Landing, the nearest point of the sea. The pines 
must have been noble then, but long since they 
have fallen under the axe. Maine has shown a 
selfish disregard of her fine forests that has never 
been exceeded, even in the most " enterprising " 
of our Western States. Now the pines are com- 
ing back again, but the giants of those old days 
are no more. 

Federal Street was where the Stowe house 
stood, a real Maine village house, two-story, with 
gable roof, the front entrance marked by a porch, 
an extension behind where the winter wood could 
be stored. The hall runs right through the middle 
of these houses, with fine square rooms on either 
side. Large windows and plenty of them make 
light and air in abundance. It is a fine home 

-»-236-H- 



BOWDOIN AND OLD BRUNSWICK 

type. Stowe was a professor in the college when 
his wife and he settled here, and they had lived 
in the place for two years before she began to 
write " Uncle Tom." 

Before that the house had been lived in by 
Longfellow and his older brother, when both were 
students at Bowdoin; Longfellow and Hawthorne 
and Bridge in the same class. The house where 
Hawthorne boarded part of the time he lived in 
Brunswick was said to have an outside stairway; 
we could not find it. But at any rate, the brook 
was a better place to visualise him. 

The town hall, the public library and the mall 
are attractive parts and additions to the Maine 
town. It is a busy manufacturing place, and 
in the early spring the logs still come down the 
river in immense numbers. But it retains an air 
of leisure and reflection. Its streets, because of 
the college, are full of youthful beings, and in 
the evening, under the elms and in the mall, 
couples stroll idly, and the soda fountains are 
well patronised. There was evening service going 
on in the Congregational Church, at the head of 
the street, close to the campus, also called the 
College Church, for in it the Commencement 
exercises are held, the Baccalaureate services, the 
Anniversary gatherings, and such other cere- 
monies as befall from time to time in the college 
calendar. This is the First Parish Church, and 



BOWDOIN AND OLD BRUNSWICK 

a beautiful Gothic building. The organ sounded 
solemnly as we strolled past it, followed by a 
burst of voices singing some old hymn — it was a 
delightful, sentimental touch that admirably suited 
the soft spring evening in the old town. 

There are other literary associations here, but 
nowadays they are fading somewhat. Who now 
reads the Rollo books? It sounds like one of 
their own questions; you can almost hear the in- 
quiring Rollo demanding to be told. Abbott, the 
writer of these informing tales, was a student at 
Bowdoin, as were his brothers, one of whom wrote 
a vast number of popular histories which have 
endured more stoutly than the adventures of 
Rollo. 

Longfellow seems to have been the only one 
of the class who came back to the college. He 
was a professor here, coming in 1829 and staying 
for five years. Here he made his home with that 
first wife of whom he sang as 

*'*'... The Being Beauteous 
Who unto my youth was given. 
More than all things else to love me" 

Sorry that our stay must needs be so short, 
we leaned from the window of the hotel, looking 
out on the town, already quiet and sleeping. It 
must be a pleasant thing to be a professor here, 

-i-238-«- 



BOWDOIN AND OLD BRUNSWICK 

we mused, a pleasanter still to be a student. The 
air came to us with a savour of the sea and a 
touch of damp coolness. Somewhere a bell tolled 
and immediately a dog barked. Silence followed. 



239 



CHAPTER X 

Dartmouth and Hanover 

" Yes^ but you ought to come here in winter! " 

That's what they tell you at Dartmouth, if 
you say anything as to the beauty of the hills, 
the opportunities for wonderful outdoor hfe, the 
fine air, the loveliness of the college campus, the 
spirit of the students — oh, anything at all. 

" Yes. But you ought to come here in winter! " 
And back a few years, before the winter of 
1909-10, the students used to groan at the thought 
of the long snowbound months, when it was blue 
smoke rather than blue air, and easy chairs rather 
than skiis and snowshoes to which they devoted 
themselves. 

There is another thing they tell you this year. 
Dartmouth, with its long military tradition, has 
been particularly affected by the war. And so 
they add: 

" You won't see Dartmouth as she usually is — 
athletics practically gone, hundreds away, khaki 
at vespers on Sunday instead of the Seniors' caps 
and gowns, no singing, the music associations 
broken up more or less — no, this isn't like Dart- 

-J-240-J- 



DARTMOUTH AND HANOVER 

mouth. But the old college is doing herself 
proud! " 

Ninety per cent of Dartmouth's undergraduate 
body has volunteered in one form or another for 
service. Some are in the Plattsburg Training 
Camp. Others are already in France, serving in 
the ambulance corps or with the Red Cross; the 
Aviation, Telegraphy, Wireless and Signal Serv- 
ices have taken more ; not a branch that is working 
for the country in this emergency but has Dart- 
mouth men with it. 

And yet the lovely campus, the beautiful build- 
ings, the yard, the encircling hills, the wide and se- 
rene river, remain untouched and calm, — shrouded 
in the dying light of a purple evening when first 
we looked about us; they make war seem a 
monstrous impossibility, a thing too far and for- 
eign from all this exquisite peace and fragrant 
beauty to be believable. 

And the war will pass, and Dartmouth will be 
here, on her plateau, and the students will once 
more crowd her dormitories and hasten to Chapel 
in the morning, and play games again on her 
Athletic Field. It is a comforting thought. And 
perhaps this is truly the last time in the history 
of the world that the young men from America's 
schools and colleges, from her fields and hills and 
cities, her workshops and factories, will ever have 
to go out to war. These boys, whom we had 

-i- 241 -f- 



DARTMOUTH AND HANOVER 

watched from Virginia to Maine and saw again 
at Dartmouth marching and countermarching to 
the call of the bugle, these boys, some of whom 
were never to come back to alumni meetings 
and to talk of the old days, might perhaps 
be the last sacrifice on the fierce and bloody 
altar. 

As we watched them, swinging back from their 
drill on the field, rank on rank, we wished them 
luck. Somehow up there in those quiet hills, in 
that " magnificent isolation " on which Dartmouth 
prides herself, it was more moving to see these 
young men, consecrated to their country's service, 
marching so joyously, and breaking up with an 
outburst of talk and laughter and sudden calls 
and hurrying steps than it had been, nearer to 
the centres of city life, where we had watched 
men hke them at the same act. Here the con- 
trast was too immense. With towns nearby, with 
extras sold outside the college gates, with factories 
and all the varied interests that approach more 
or less closely to most colleges and universities 
bringing the tangled concerns of the word almost 
within touch, it had not appeared so fantastically 
impossible as it did here to think that men were 
once again at the business of killing, and that 
the best and the most generous were the first 
sacrifice. But Dartmouth is the college of the 
wild places, and the strength of the hills encom- 

-^ 242 -J- 



DARTMOUTH AND HANOVER 

passes her. Nature is her sister, her close ally. 
The terrible fact that men have not yet learned 
to settle their human affairs without war stands 
out in naked horror against that background. 
Until all have learned it, the lesson must go 
on. But it was infinitely touching, on that spring 
evening, to see again the splendid young man- 
hood of the country making itself ready to teach 
that lesson, whatsoever the cost. 

But all this is not telling the story or giving 
the picture of Dartmouth. Yet in some sort it 
sums up the various impressions both Sister and 
I got in seeing so many of our colleges in this 
war year, and the splendid response of their 
students to the President's call. 

We put up at the only place in Hanover to 
put up, the Hanover Inn, run by the college, and 
one of the most delectable hostelries a traveller 
may find. 

We were given a room overlooking the campus, 
a charming room with chintz curtains and quaint 
wall-paper that positively smiled at us as we 
entered, so welcoming it was. 

It was difficult to agree with the expressed 
desire that we should see Dartmouth in winter, 
when we looked out at the spring Dartmouth. 
The broad campus was so golden with dandelions, 
the elms were so delicately trimmed with their 
new leaves, the college buildings looked so beau- 

-»-243-i- 



DARTMOUTH AND HANOVER 

tiful in their green frame, that we were quite 
content. 

There is, of course, a Hanover. But prac- 
tically Dartmouth and Hanover are one. The 
college has swallowed the town, and then it 
happens for once the college was first on the 
ground; I do not know whether that can be 
said for any other American college. Here, in 
1770, came Eleanor Wheelock, with an ox-cart, 
a group of labourers and two companions, Syl- 
vanus Ripley and John Cram, and here they set 
to work to hack down a few of the gigantic pines 
and to build a log cabin. It was wilderness, and 
for that reason it was chosen. For Dartmouth 
is an outcome of the old Indian Charity School, 
Moore's School, founded by this same Wheelock 
about 1750 in Lebanon, Connecticut, and the idea 
was to get hold of more Indians, in this fresh 
spot, close to the great water highway, and make 
the business of turning Indians into college grad- 
uates a permanent and growing one. One Indian 
graduate of the Moore School, Samson Occum, 
a full-blood Mohegan, went to England to preach 
and to beg for subscriptions. He collected in all 
some eleven thousand pounds, and aroused the 
interest of Lord Dartmouth, who became the 
patron of the proposed new college. There was 
no idea of making it more than an academy at 
the time, but when Wheelock realised that he 

-J- 244 -J- 



DARTMOUTH AND HANOVER 

had so much money he asked to be incorporated 
as a college. The charter was granted by George 
III. in 1769. 

That, briefly, is the beginning of Dartmouth. 
There have been a few Indians in the college since 
its foundation, to be sure, for the Indian school 
idea seems to have lost vitality very early. Per- 
haps the college's most famous Indian graduate 
is Dr. Charles Eastman, the Sioux, whose re- 
markable career has done more to make white 
men realise the splendid material the country pos- 
sesses in its Indian population than any other 
single fact in the last fifty years. 

We began next morning our survey of Dart- 
mouth, and learned also why it was that the 
winter season is now considered the halcyon time 
at the college. That is owing to the Dartmouth 
Out o' Doors Club — but first as to the physical 
appearance of the college. 

There is the campus, an oblong, open green. 
Trees stand around it, and beyond the trees 
buildings. Our Inn was on the south, and to 
the east and north stretched the college park. 
Then there is the yard, just east of the campus, 
where some of the most beautiful of Dartmouth's 
buildings, known as the Old Row, stand. Dart- 
mouth Hall, one of this row, was the oldest part 
of the college, modelled on Nassau, and deeply 
beloved by every Dartmouth man. I say was, 



DARTMOUTH AND HANOVER 

for though it stands there now, in all its old 
beauty, it is a new Dartmouth Hall, the original 
building having gone in the fire of 1904. But 
by October of the same year the new one was 
rising, testimonial to the spirit of Dartmouth, 
of which one hears so often. On either side of 
Dartmouth are Wentworth and Thornton, fine 
and simple structures of brick and stone, part of 
the new system of dormitories that have sprung 
up in the college since 1900. Behind these are 
Reed Hall and Bartlett Hall. On the opposite 
side of the yard are the three Fayerweather 
dormitories. As these dormitories are at one, and 
Rolhns Chapel at the other end of the campus, a 
splendid spectacle of hastening and dishevelled 
young manhood flying to morning Chapel can 
be got from the advantageous position of a 
window in the Inn. 

Off on the heights of College Park you see the 
slender Tower, which has a superb outlook over 
the whole surrounding country. This Tower 
stands close to the Old Pine Stump. Once the 
stump was a tree, till struck by lightning in 
1895. Bound the tree the Seniors met for mo- 
mentous exercises at the end of their life as 
students, following the custom, it is said, of old 
Indian sachems, who here had held peace parleys 
and smoked their pipes. The Seniors did the same. 
And to-day, round the carefully preserved stump, 

-J- 246 -e- 




The BcauiifuJ Old Rote 



DARTMOUTH AND HANOVER 

they still gather, smoke their last pipe together, 
and then smash the clays against the stout old 
fragment. 

Nearer is the Observatory, beautifully crowning 
a hill. This outlook on rising hills that you get 
from the high plain on which the college is built 
is most attractive. Pines and maples and oaks 
and elms mingle, and everything swims away into 
the sky — Dartmouth is truly lapped in the em- 
brace of old Mother Nature. And she is taking 
every precaution that the taint of town will never 
touch her, never come close. She is buying up 
all the land for a long way around, to hold for 
elbow room and breathing space. Nothing will 
be allowed to crowd up on Dartmouth. 

Webster Hall, with its fine columns, faces 
down upon the campus from the north, and 
makes a splendid impression. Near it are College 
Church and the famous Butterfield Museum, 
beyond these the Graduates' Club and another 
dormitory. Elm House. All of the students are 
required to live in dormitories. And since Dart- 
mouth guards her democratic attitude with the 
greatest jealousy, the simplest single rooms, well 
within the purse stretch of the poorest student, 
are scattered among the richer suites, where the 
man who has money to spend can find all the 
required luxury. There are no selected and 
favoured buildings for men with gold spoons in 

-^24!7^- 



DARTMOUTH AND HANOVER 

their mouths. These dormitories have been re- 
built from older ones, or are entirely new within 
the past fifteen years, and they conform in their 
general appearance, which is simple, adequate and 
handsome, with the lines of the Colonial days while 
containing the plumbing of the present age. 

To the west are the Parkhurst Building, College 
Hall and Tuck School. Parkhurst holds the 
administrative offices and rooms — a particularly 
beautiful Faculty room. It is one of the more 
recent additions to the college, and Dartmouth 
deserves the heartiest congratulations on this 
newer portion of her equipment. Each building 
is the best of its kind, and the architectural ef- 
fect, the harmony with the surroundings and the 
beauty of the individual structures have been care- 
fully and successfully studied. Dartmouth Hall 
has given the keynote, and though the many 
buildings that have come since are sufficiently 
various there is no false note in the entire group. 

Tuck School is one of Dartmouth's supreme 
successes. It is the famous, and the first, school 
for business administration and finance, intended 
for post-graduate work, which was established 
under President Tucker with the Amos Tuck 
donation. Harvard has since achieved a similar 
institution, but to Dartmouth belongs the honour 
of the pioneer, nor has the fame of the Tuck 
School ever been dimmed by contrast. 



DARTMOUTH AND HANOVER 

College Hall, with its huge semi-circular porch 
supported on great columns that rise from a brick 
terrace or veranda, popular for outdoor lounging, 
is the home of the Commons, its fine dining hall 
seating five hundred. There is a beautiful great 
fireplace in the assembly room, having the college 
seal, with its legend, " Vox Clamantis in Deserto," 
a true description of the college in its beginnings. 
There are also rooms for various social purposes, 
and dormitories. 

Dartmouth has many fraternities, flourishing 
and well managed, all alHed to the parent or- 
ganisations, and comfortably housed. They do 
not serve regular meals, nor can the members 
sleep in them while undergraduates, and they are 
each confined to a small membership. But they 
make excellent gathering places and social rendez- 
vous in a college that must subsist entirely on 
itself for everything of the sort. Another source 
of fraternising is the Robinson Building, given 
by Wallace F. Robinson of Boston for the use 
of all organisations other than athletic that might 
find it convenient. On its top floor, in a sound- 
proof room, the band meets for practice. In 
other rooms, exquisitely appointed and commo- 
dious, the various publishing and editing boards 
meet to transact their business. There are two 
general assembly rooms, and a lovely httle theatre. 
Dartmouth, by the way, was the first college to 

-f-249-J- 



DARTMOUTH AND HANOVER 

issue a college paper. It has three publications 
running successfully, the Dartmouth, a tri-weekly, 
the Bema, and the Jack o' Lantern. The latter 
is the humourous and the Bema the literary 
magazine for undergraduate efforts. 

Dartmouth's Dramatic Club is celebrated for 
the high type of work it does. It has given 
plays like " The Intruder," and came to New 
York City to give two matinees of " The Mis- 
leading Lady," at the same theatre where the 
original production was running. What is more, 
the critics praised the performance as the best 
ever seen in New York by college players. 

Naturally there is a Gymnasium. And Dart- 
mouth isn't content with calling it the best that 
any college has; she claims that it is the largest 
and finest in the world. It looks exactly that. 
A building big enough to have an indoor diamond 
and tennis courts, a place for field athletics, pole 
vaulting, shot putting, hand ball and running 
track, all on the ground floor, with rooms for 
visiting teams above, with the offices and trophy 
room, and up on the top floor all the appurten- 
ances of the usual gymnasium, is certainly worth 
boasting about. It stands on the edge of the 
Athletic Field, where there are more tennis courts, 
as well as baseball and football grounds, and 
a Grand Stand with showers and lockers. 

They didn't let us stop here. We were shown 
-h 250 -i- 



DARTMOUTH AND HANOVER 

Wilder Hall and Culver Hall, Physics and 
Chemistry, and taken into beautiful Webster, 
named after Dartmouth's most famous graduate, 
" Black Dan," as he was called at college. This 
is partly a lecture hall, and is used for Commence- 
ment exercises as well as for academic purposes. 
There is a collection of portraits of the Presidents, 
distinguished graduates and other persons inter- 
ested in Dartmouth. In Dartmouth Hall is the 
Art Collection proper, with other collections of 
more technical sorts. 

Rollins Chapel, with its pretty tower dominat- 
ing one corner of the campus, is a very real 
thing in the students' lives, for morning at- 
tendance is compulsory. There has been some 
grumbling on this score, but on the whole Dart- 
mouth approves of it. It gives the entire college 
a chance to see itself once a day; to get its 
measure, as it were. Dartmouth men are accused 
of being clannish. They are certainly stout 
champions of and great rooters for the hill college, 
and they think that morning Chapel gives the 
right impetus to the youngsters growing up to- 
gether into alumni. By the time the undergrad- 
uate is a Senior he thinks so too. Therefore 
the most important society in Dartmouth, the 
Paleopihes, which is the student governing body, 
supports Chapel faithfully — and the hurried pro- 
cession of students continues to fly across the 



DARTMOUTH AND HANOVER 

campus each morning, coming from the Row, 
from the Fayerweather dormitories, one of the 
most beautiful groups on the yard, and the other 
houses and halls that are so liberally scattered 
over the grounds. From the first day this at- 
tendance has been unbroken — and traditions at 
Dartmouth are passionately cherished. 

A Chapel custom that is also very old is that 
of Singing out the Seniors. This occurs at the 
last Chapel of the college year. For the cere- 
mony the whole college attends. There is a read- 
ing from the Scriptures, a prayer, then an anthem 
by the choir, and last the Seniors rise and sing 
the old hymn beginning 

''Come, let us anew our journey pursue . . ." 

As far back as 1843 the custom was already an 
established one. Just when it began is not known. 

There is a mild form of fagging at Dartmouth, 
the Freshmen being expected to carry out certain 
orders from the upperclassmen, to beat rugs and 
drag furniture to new spots. The Freshman also 
wears a cap till the hour when, close to his Sopho- 
more incarnation, he is permitted to burn the 
offensive badge of immaturity. 

But there is still more to tell of undergraduate 
life in Dartmouth, and now we get back to 
winter. 

-i-252-i- 



DARTMOUTH AND HANOVER 

And here comes in the Dartmouth Outing Club. 
Only a youngster, for it was born in the winter 
of 1909-10, it has come to be the most popular 
feature of the entire undergraduate year, as well 
as a drawing card for outsiders — for dwellers at 
the Inn who are coming to learn the joys of a 
Northern winter, and for other colleges, which 
are beginning to plan to join Dartmouth in some 
of the trips organised by the club. It had its 
being in the brain and energy of one man, a 
student, F. H. Harris, who for two years worked 
unceasingly to arouse and maintain undergraduate 
interest in a club that would make an asset of 
Dartmouth's long winter and her snow-clad hills, 
a club that, on skiis or snowshoes, would break 
a pathway from hall and club to the wild places 
and the distant peaks within a wide circle of 
miles. 

Now the Hanover winter is Dartmouth's great- 
est joy and opportunity, her winter Carnival is 
coming to be the chiefest of her celebrations, and 
her students are developing championship form 
on ski or snowshoe. 

To turn a whole college from fire-hugging 
through the frozen winter days to ski-running is 
to have performed an act of no small merit. 
There is wild country in the region, — the White 
Mountains are a dangerous field for amateurs. 
But as the seasons follow each other the Dart- 

-i-253-i- 



DARTMOUTH AND HANOVER 

mouth men climb higher and fare farther. They 
have topped the Presidential Range in all its 
covering of snow and have built a chain of cabins 
for shelter on their long tramps, a chain that they 
intend to lengthen year by year ... to extend 
possibly as far as the Dartmouth Grant, a great 
tract of 26,000 acres in the northernmost corner of 
New Hampshire along the Maine border, a quite 
wild home of many peaks and lovely lakes and 
rushing rivers, where the bear and moose still 
roam. 

Not only in winter but through the splendid 
days of a Northern fall does the Outing Club 
lure its members out on long tramps and camping 
trips. By careful management of the permitted 
" cuts " a student can save up several days, to 
spend them in the open, and more and more is 
that becoming the ambition and the delight of the 
men. But winter is the great time. As one of 
the Dartmouth writers put it, " Dartmouth men 
without snowshoes ought to be as rare as fish 
without fins." The club is open to the whole 
college — and more of the college enhsts in its 
membership with every passing year. 

Cutting classes is a fault common to every 
student in every college the round world over. 
But few are the students who cut in order to 
get away into the huge silent places of forest, 
mountain and enwrapping snow. That is the 

-*-254-i- 



DARTMOUTH AND HANOVER 

Dartmouth temptation, and a finer and a health- 
ier one it would be hard to find. 

The Carnival is a round of splendid sports. 
There are ski and snowshoe races, both cross- 
country and dashes, and obstacle races. There is 
the thrilling ski jumping. The evenings are given 
over to the Outing Club Dance and to plays acted 
by the Dramatic Club. There is hockey, and 
out in the sweet and bracing air, it matters not 
whether the sun rides the blue, or whether old 
Mother Carey is plucking her geese — there is 
no such thing as bad weather at a winter 
Carnival. 

But now winter had gone, and even were it 
here, the Outing Club would have httle chance 
for tramps and Carnivals. Dartmouth has gone 
into the work of preparation for war with the 
greatest seriousness, and we were shown the im- 
mense system of defensive works constructed by 
the students under the tuition of officers from the 
French front. Here were the wire entaglements, 
the pits and trenches and bomb proofs of which 
we had read. The work had been done as per- 
fectly as though it were really prepared for a 
German attack. Regularly every afternoon the 
men had worked there, and practically every 
student in Dartmouth is included in the two bat- 
tahons. From three to five in the afternoon they 
drill on Alumni Oval, as the Athletic Field is 

-?-255h- 



DARTMOUTH AND HANOVER 

called. There is retreat every evening on the 
campus, and the flag comes fluttering down to the 
music of the Star Spangled Banner. . . . 

Class Day and Commencement as usual, is the 
phrase one hears, and the college seems to listen 
acquiescently. But can they be the same? 

Capped and gowned, the Seniors will meet at 
the Senior fence and march across the campus to 
the college yard before the Old Row, where the 
Marshal will deliver his address of welcome to 
friends and alumni gathered as usual on the 
lawn. Then will come the Address to the Old 
Chapel, once in Dartmouth Hall, and then the 
band leading, the Seniors and the rest of the 
college and guests following, the march will pass 
the Bema, where the Sachem, in his Indian dress, 
will give the traditional Sachem Oration, before 
the company winds away up the hill to the old 
Pine Stump, round which the Seniors will smoke 
their last pipe and then break their pipes. Yes, 
tradition will be fulfilled. But half the class 
has already slipped away, by twos and threes, 
and cannot come back. Under those graduating 
gowns the khaki will show, and the words of the 
song: 

'"'' Stand as brother stands to brother. 
Dare a deed for the old mother. 
Greet the world, from the hills, with a hail! " 
-j-256 4- 



DARTMOUTH AND HANOVER 

those words will have a special and thrilling sig- 
nificance — it can hardly be a Class Day as usual. 

But Dartmouth will start work again in the 
fall with all her old vigour and energy. There 
is to be no curtaiknent of her teaching force, no 
change in her plans. 

Before leaving Sister and I walked through the 
village streets, finding the house where Daniel 
Webster put up when he came to Hanover, now 
called the Leeds house, or The Maples. It was 
built in 1778. A classmate of Webster's, and also 
a famous graduate of the college, Rufus Choate, 
was married here. Another interesting old house, 
five years older than The Maples, is now the 
Howe Memorial Library. This house has 
travelled from one part of the town to another 
several times, which, we were told, is quite a 
Hanover custom. 

" You never know where a house will be from 
one year to another," said an inhabitant, cheer- 
fully. " When a man finds he likes somes corner 
better than the one he's living on, he just goes 
over, and takes his house with him." 

The Library, besides its travelled ways, has the 
distinction of concealing buried treasures. When 
a partition was taken down ancient and valuable 
books, coins, and trinkets were discovered. Con- 
cealed cupboards have been found, containing 
other such treasures, and it appears likely that 

-i-257-h- 



DARTMOUTH AND HANOVER 

whenever an alteration is made in the old place, 
there will be more findings. 

The Webster house is a small story-and-a-half 
cottage, a sleepy-looking httle place, white and 
neat. So far as we could hear, it had always 
been in the same spot where it stood, but this 
may be an error. 

However, as I said before, Dartmouth and 
Hanover are practically identical. When you 
walk through the village, you are almost on the 
campus, and all the interests of the village are 
bound up with the college. The rest of the 
world lies beyond the hills, and neither college 
nor town want it any nearer. 

" Don't miss going to the river," said one of 
our Dartmouth friends. " Take the fine road 
under the pines and through the ravines of the 
Hitchcock estates that has been built by the 
college to the bluffs above the Connecticut — it 
is a real bit of scenery." 

But we had lingered too long looking at the 
campus, with the regiment marching across it, 
preparing for retreat, and time had come to leave. 
The road through the pines must wait for our 
hoped-for return — perhaps in the winter, for then, 
as they keep insisting, is the real time to see 
Dartmouth. 



258 



CHAPTER XI 

Amherst 

From the juncture of the branch road that takes 
you to and away from Dartmouth we were to be 
snatched into a car belonging to friends, and to 
run down the valley of the Connecticut in all the 
magnificence of careless tourists, lapped in luxury 
and dust coats. So it was up in the morning 
early, and then the usual wait while something 
unexpected had to be done to the car — has any 
one ever started on time in an automobile? 

People spend a lot of time hunting for happi- 
ness in this world. Yet the thing is absurdly 
simple. A perfectly happy hfe could be attained 
in choosing the car you prefer, chmbing into it 
with one or two congenial friends, and then run- 
ning up and down the Connecticut Valley for 
keeps. I present these plans and specifications 
free. 

" But hold on," said Sister. " It won't always 
be the end of May in this valley, any more than 
it will always be honeymoon time in a marriage." 

Anyhow, during honeymoon time there is a 
supreme conviction that the thing is immortal — 
and once in awhile that conviction proves correct. 

-J- 259 -J- 



AMHERST 

So, when we get to managing things better in 
this old world, — and Lord knows there's room for 
improvement, — we can perhaps arrange for ever- 
lasting spring in that fair valley, with its towns 
and villages, its huge elms, that stand like immense 
green fountains along the roads and in the 
meadows; its mounting hills and rainbow dis- 
tances, and the sweeping curves of its great 
river. 

We idled on our way ; we were lucky enough to 
have that sort of a driver. We lunched at a 
roadside inn, and we had dinner in Greenfield, 
most gracious and winning of towns. And at 
Northampton we settled for the night, after a 
run through the sweet-smelling night, that seemed 
crowded with hay fields and whippoorwills, the 
one breathing fragrance and the other shrieking 
passionate complaint to the unheeding, dream- 
ing night, deeply occupied with its tremendous 
work of creation. 

Amherst is a bare seven miles from Northamp- 
ton, a charming academic village full of houses 
that seem to be remarking, as you pass them 
under the sheltering elms, " I am an American 
home." The flags flung out by the call of war 
emphasised the American, certainly. But it is 
only in America that just such homes are found. 
At once sequestered and neighbourly, with gardens 
that reach up to the broad, shadowy verandas, 

-?-260-e- 



AMHERST 

they stand, each an individual, yet with a family 
likeness not to be overlooked. 

Amherst is old. It was more or less vaguely 
settled as far back as 1731, and once was part of 
Hadley, but in time was separately incorporated 
and named in honour of General Jeffrey Amherst, 
Lord Jeffrey Amherst as he became later. For 
ten years Noah Webster lived here, writing his 
dictionary, and Emily Dickinson, that rare poet 
and exquisite spirit, essence of all that is fine in 
the New England character, was born here. So 
too was H. H., Helen Hunt Jackson, whose 
grave, in far away Colorado, I had so often seen, 
and on whose cairn among the mountains she 
loved I too had thrown my reverential stone, to 
lie with the great pile heaped by her admirers 
through the years. 

In each broad street and quiet square Amherst 
proclaims itself a college town, existing for the 
sake of the fine old institution, whose record for 
scholarship stands so high among the smaller col- 
leges. The people in its streets have a professorial 
look, or else fail to conceal that they are students. 
The shops are the College this and the College 
that, and the drinks at the soda fountains have 
their college tag added to the descriptive name 
that tempts you. Who can refuse a College 
Raspberry Sundae, who escape from the allure of 
an Egg Flip, College Style? 

-+-261-f- 



AMHERST 

The college is grouped on the loveliest part of 
the plateau on which the village stands. Two 
rivers, small and adorable, called I believe the 
Fort and the Mill, amuse themselves winding 
about the town, and reveahng themselves from 
almost any point of vantage. To the west the 
Berkshire Mountains loom pleasantly purple on 
the view, beyond sloping meadows, and you are 
pointed to Sugar Loaf and Toby. East is Mount 
Lincoln, among the Pelham hills, and south the 
Holyoke Mountains. It is a perfectly planned 
arrangement if what you ask is beauty, peace and 
picturesqueness . 

Amherst began as a co-educational academy 
about 1814, and among other acts in that pre- 
college period it graduated Mary Lyon, founder 
of Holyoke, and founder of real higher education 
for women in America. 

Later it went hard to work to become a real 
college, and after much difficulty and a number 
of disappointments the charter was granted in 
1825, some four years after the college had opened 
its doors to men only. Its basis was a fund for 
the education of ministers, and the intention was 
to make the expenses as small as possible — Am- 
herst began on a charity idea, in fact, and to this 
day it is more anxious to get good students then 
to make money out of them. 

The way to see Amherst is to go to the highest 
-i-262-h- 



AMHERST 

part of the entire village. On that highest point 
stands the old college chapel, built in 1828, with 
the two dormitories, South and North College, 
that flank it in fine simplicity on either hand. 
Over these the ivy grows, mantling their plain 
walls and framing the windows. They are much 
the same in style as the old dormitories at Har- 
vard, and make a brave showing with the beautiful 
chapel between them. Its Doric front, with four 
great columns, its entirely-out-of-keeping but 
utterly delightful square tower, one square super- 
imposed upon the other, the upper being slightly 
smaller, with a well-marked ledge separating the 
two, and there is a clock in the upper half. Up 
on the top of the tower, where a flag waves, you 
climb, by very many steps, and then look out on 
the whole campus, the village, the farther land- 
scape, the distant, framing hills and mountains, 
a charming view, that looks park-like. The many 
winding driveways, the smaller and equally wind- 
ing paths, the oval in front of the Walker Build- 
ing, the more distant Pratt Athletic Field, the 
village common, the groves and fields and the 
crowding elms and pines and oaks, the white 
farmhouses, with the constantly recurring glimpses 
of water; all this makes a varied, lovable expanse, 
one of those with which you could live forever, 
it is so beautiful; and yet it spells repose and gen- 
tleness, not forcing you to admire and wonder as 

-H-263-i- 



AMHERST 

do some of the more tremendous efforts of nature, 
but letting you alone, like some good friend with 
whom you are utterly at ease. 

The Connecticut vanishes in a cleft between 
Mount Holyoke and Nonotunk Mountain, with a 
last flash of its silver shield. The hotel on Hol- 
yoke shows up quite impressively. It must be a 
lordly place to spend the summer. On clear 
mornings, so they told us, Greylock, Williams' 
mountain guardian, stands out finely on the 
horizon, but the spring haze hid him from us. 

It is difficult to tell where village begins and 
college ends. Facing on the common are the 
President's house, the Library with its square 
tower, and the attractive Hitchcock Hall, where 
the college commons is spread. This fine building, 
of true Colonial type, the pillared, Greek ex- 
pression of the Colonial idea, was made over from 
a private house, and fills many a college use, 
much like Harvard's Memorial Hall. 

The old campus is behind the college, and is 
pretty well surrounded by buildings, though a 
fortunate gap has been left for an outlook on 
the hills. On the north side the Gothic tower 
and gables of Walker Hall face the campus. 
Here are lecture rooms and the college ofiices. 
Through it you are taken to the head of the flight 
of granite steps leading from its north entrance 
down to the second campus, wide and beautifully 

-H- 264 ■+- 



AMHERST 

parked. The chemical and physical laboratories 
are at one end of this green — Hitchcock at the 
other, the village side. 

Leading away from near the Chapel is a mag- 
nificent avenue of maples, going straight east 
down the slope to the Gothic church, with its 
slender tower. This is truly a walk of enchant- 
ment. So leafy is the arch, so charmingly the 
church ends the long vista, and the College Grove, 
scene of Class Day fun, spreads out so prettily 
as the pathway skirts it, with so many trees and 
shrubs. Perhaps because the way to the church 
is so delightful, Amherst has been the center of 
many religious revivals in the past. Henry Ward 
Beecher was one of her graduates, as was Noah 
Webster. Eugene Field is said by some to have 
been a student here, but it seems likely that this 
refers to his work in a private school for boys in 
the village. He spent a year at Williams, and 
that is about all of college Hfe that he had in the 
East. We were sorry, because, as an old friend 
of our childhood days, we should like to have 
visualized him in these academic groves. 

Almost opposite the Chapel, whose official title 
is Johnson Chapel, by the way, is the Observa- 
tory with its Octagonal adjunct, and directly 
down the slope is the College Fence. This Fence, 
at which various joyous and strenuous events in 
undergraduate hfe are said to take place, is not 

-J- 265 -J- 



AMHERST 

a fence in the sense in which the outside world 
regards fences. More does it resemble three of 
those gates used at the horse show when the 
jumpers are shown. Longer a trifle, and not so 
high, the three wooden segments stand in strict 
alignment, and close together, side by side. 

On the southeast corner of the campus is the 
Pratt Gymnasium and Natatorium, a brick build- 
ing that looks comfortable and competent, and is 
said to be well fitted. Amherst has had triumphs 
in intercollegiate swimming contests, and to listen 
to her students you would think that the winning 
way was common to her — her chief enemy is 
Wilhams, and the year she doesn't beat Wilhams 
at football and baseball is a dark and dreary 
waste — "But it's rare!" So say they all. We 
hadn't reached Williams yet, nor had we looked 
up the record, so we took Amherst on faith, at 
least as far as her athletics went. She has a beau- 
tiful field in Pratt. It is named for the family 
that gave the Gymnasium and the field, as also 
the Pratt Health Cottage, or hospital. 

You are always going up or down at Amherst. 
Slopes rule. Back of the church the ground gives 
with decided sharpness to the east, looking out 
over the Grove. 

There wasn't a step without its exclamation 
from Sister or me, usually suppressed enough not 
to harass our guide, who had the usual youth's 

-J- 266 -J- 



AMHERST 

lack of response to mere views. But he told us 
with great delight of the Flag Rush. The pole 
broke under the strain when he was in the at- 
tacking party, as a Freshman. The Sophomores 
do the defence work, waiting in a greased and 
active group, and the Freshmen, equally greased 
and equally stripped as to shirt, fall upon them 
with relentless fury. The contest is short, but 
by the time it's over few are the whole garments 
left on those strugghng frames. 

Green is the colour of the Freshman cap here, 
and there is a fire set flaming at Washington's 
Birthday in which the thing is burned to ashes. 

" But as far back as October we don't have 
to tip them to the janitors of the frat houses," 
said our Mentor. 

The fraternities at Amherst, which are set along 
the village common and on its prettiest streets, 
charming homes in many styles, some very beauti- 
ful, newly built and in exquisitely kept grounds, 
are favoured by the Faculty. They attract at 
least eighty per cent of the students, and differ 
from fraternity houses in other colleges in that 
Freshmen are eligible. No sooner does the Fresh- 
man reach college than the various societies get 
busy, and the rushing for members starts. Within 
a few days the Freshmen are distributed among 
the different fraternities. They mark this honour 
by raking the lawns and making themselves use- 



AMHERST 

ful where told, but the clubs are thenceforth their 
homes. Many will room in the Dormitories, and 
it is permissible to make your intimate a man 
from another fraternity, practically an unheard 
of thing in other colleges. So that the cliqueish- 
ness and snobbishness charged against the frater- 
nities is largely ehminated at Amherst. The stu- 
dents all live either at the Dormitories or the 
Fraternity Houses. Each of these houses is 
owned by its society, and each stands in pretty 
grounds. 

For a long while Amherst, in its dramatics, 
devoted itself to the classical drama. But interest 
waned. The students did not seem to press for- 
ward to do the acting, nor were audiences mad 
with enthusiasm. 

So it was that in the season of 1914-15 a change 
was made. The College Dramatics Association 
decided to give a farce, Ready Money, and though 
there was some opposition, they put it through, 
and with huge success. Amherst seems likely to 
be a modern producer after this, and thoroughly 
up-to-date in what she puts on her stage. The 
boys take a great deal of trouble with the work, 
rehearsing faithfully under a professional coach, 
and they give several performances on the road 
each season. 

Amherst has its Glee and Mandolin Clubs, 
which give concerts in many towns and cities 

-i- 268 H- 






^.\\'^' 



\ t/]''K 



^^ ^i^--^"4^^ 



Johnson Chapel^ mitli its Doric Pillars and 
Delightful Square Tower 



AMHERST 

during the spring tour. In Amherst their con- 
certs are held in College Hall, which stands fac- 
ing the common on the other side of the College 
Library from that occupied by the President's 
house, and is a beautiful building with a cupola 
and columns before its facade. Here are held 
the commencement exercises and other entertain- 
ments and memorial meetings. 

" Come and see the collection of Audubon's 
birds," said a mere outsider, who was showing us 
part of the village. " The college is famous for 
its fine collections." 

In Audubon's day the new method of stuffing 
birds so that they are shown in their very habit 
as they lived, was not practised. But the name 
of the great naturalist was in itself a lure. To 
think that it was he who had done the careful and 
beautiful work we saw was delightful to Sister 
and me. 

There are also some wonderful things from 
Egypt, given the college long ago, as our concep- 
tion of time runs, though in contrast with the age 
of the sculptured tablets it is but a moment. 

But the college boy is not so greatly interested 
in Audubon and ancient stones as in Junior Proms 
and athletic records. 

" Is there a good deal going on at Amherst 
during the year?" asked Sister, since a college is 
a place for acquiring information. 



AMHERST 

" I'd like to see any mathematician who could 
keep score of all the house dances and big and 
small entertainments the boys manage to pull 
off," rephed our town friend. 

" You see, the Smith girls are only a httle way 
off, and they can manage to snatch occasional 
hours from their work, too. So that between 
Amherst and Smith the college season is 
lively." 

"And then," put in a student who had joined 
us, "we manage to drag ourselves to Springfield 
or even to Boston for various banquets. The 
Juniors have to have theirs, and the Seniors theirs, 
and even the Freshmen must eat. As for the 
Sophomores, they began too young to break the 
habit. 

" There are the big hops, and there are the 
small ones, and there are the dramatic shows and 
the glee concerts and the smokers. And when 
there's a game there must be a celebration too, 
whether you've won or lost. As for outdoor work, 
the Freshmen manage to trample down a lot of 
snow between Jackson Chapel and the Octagon 
round Washington's Birthday. That's when they 
set their bonfire going." 

It sounded very dazzling. 

" And who, or what, is Sabrina — or Sabroona? " 
It was I who put the question. Hints and re- 
marks had reached us, but just what this Sabrina 

-J- 270 -J- 



AMHERST 

was — no one would tell us. Nor did I get an 
answer then. It is a college mystery — and it will 
not be discovered in a day's touring. 

" You'd better stay for Commencement," said 
the student, instead of answering my question. 
Perhaps that was something of an answer. Only 
Amherst readers will know. 

It would have been pleasant to stay. There is 
Ivy Planting by the Class President at College 
Church, with the Ivy Oration and Ivy Poem, 
uttered by inspired Seniors. The fine old church 
is already the home of hundreds upon hundreds 
of twining creepers, and each class adds its bit of 
green. But best of all would be the sight in the 
Grove after sunset, when the lanterns are hang- 
ing among the trees, and the President holds a 
reception in a gayly decorated tent. There is a 
concert, and the Senior Sing, and the ceremony 
of the Passing of the Senior Chahce. Then comes 
the march of the classes, with the Seniors in cap 
and gown, winding away under the trees and along 
the paths. Finally every one reaches the Gym- 
nasium, and there is dancing. Senior night, they 
call it, the last of their life as college undergrad- 
uates. 

Amherst has its Students' Council, with mem- 
bers from the three upper classes. It has the 
Amherst Monthly and the Amherst Student, and 
an annual, the OHo, published by the Junior Class. 

-H-271-e- 



AMHERST 

This is a sort of compendium of the four college 
years. It has a class history, notes on all the 
clubs and fraternities, personal histories of each 
member of the special class doing the publishing 
that year, in which the wit and wisdom of the men 
get free play and thorough expression. Every 
one in the college helps somewhat in getting out 
that book, however. Those who can draw con- 
tribute pictures, those who can write do their bit. 
Beautiful photographs of the college are used, 
and when the book is finished, with the close of 
the Junior year, it makes a record worth the 
keeping. 

Amherst, like Bowdoin and Dartmouth, is sur- 
rounded by a country that calls for winter sports, 
but so far there has been nothing much done. 
We heard nothing of that wild joy in the snow 
and its possibihties that Dartmouth shows. And 
neither had the martial spirit produced anything 
hke the same sort of enthusiasm for the war. 
There was some, certainly. But it had not taken 
hold of ninety per cent of the men, as at Dart- 
mouth or Princeton, or of the great percentage 
shown in U. of V. or Harvard or Yale. Amherst 
is a small college, and a studious college. Its 
students take a deep interest in the courses on 
Political Economy, Social History and Institu- 
tions, and in Economics. There is a great deal 
of hard work done by the men there, and the aim 



AMHERST 

of the faculty has been to keep them steadily at 
their work. Amherst men are at Plattsburg, 
and they are in other services for the war. But 
Amherst is not a mihtary college in the sense in 
which Dartmouth, where there is a summer mili- 
tary school this year, has become one. It has its 
Rifle Club, and this year the membership was 
tremendously increased, but its classes have not 
been shattered by the departure of hundreds of 
men to the war work. 

This section of the country is full of old Indian 
history. They take you to a clear brook tumbling 
along under arches of green, and tell you its name 
is Bloody Brook, for here in the beginning of our 
time was an Indian massacre. And over in Old 
Deerfield, not much of distance away, they have 
the marks on the old houses made by Indian 
arrows. 

" Many of the undergraduates turn into lonely 
trampers and fishermen when spring arrives. 
There is the Pelham Trout Brook, running 
through tree-clad glens — that's a favourite haunt. 
And there are splendid tramps to the hills and 
mountains round the village. Though there are 
no scheduled hikes or such-like things, you will 
find that most Amherst men grow extremely 
familiar with the surrounding country while they 
are here. Get any graduate talking, and he will 
fill you up with the glories of Amhert's land- 

-i-273-?- 



AMHERST 

scape, and the joys of her wild country walks 
and climbs." 

It was our village friend who spoke, walking 
with us to the end of the common, where the 
motor car, that was to take us back to Northamp- 
ton, rested at the curb. The hour was sunset, 
and the college had begun to throw out sparks 
of hght here and there, that glimmered through 
the veil of branches or shone clear from some 
vantage point. Along Pleasant Street, with its 
terraced rise, we walked, past the homelike charm 
of the President's house, the square bulk of the 
library, the Grecian loveliness of College Hall, 
so soon to ring with the speeches and the music 
of Commencement. .Beyond the common, on the 
rise, the older part of the institution was grouped, 
dimly seen through the trees. Across this com- 
mon hurried young men, some probably on their 
way to the commons at Hitchcock, others to the 
many fraternity houses. Somewhere what sound- 
ed suspiciously like a ukelele was twanging, and 
up the village street, motor cars were running 
slowly, with headlights dimmed and loaded with 
men and girls, all of whom looked to be exactly 
twenty. 

" After all," declared Sister, " living in a col- 
lege town must be a tragic business. Necessarily 
you get older, but there is the eternal crowd of 
youth, unchanging in its essence, doing practically 



AMHERST 

the same things year after year, always be- 
ginning, and most so at the moment when it 
ends, to go forth into the grown-up world. What 
on earth do you feel like, after twenty years of 
it? Better to spend a spring day taking in the 
full joy of it, and then climb into a car and de- 
part. ..." 

Which we at that moment proceeded to do, 
and the sentence remained in the air. 



275 



CHAPTER XII 

Smith and Northampton 

Northampton has devoted itself to the business 
of being a college town, or at least a town full 
of students and professors these many years. It 
was because of its academic flavour that Sophia 
Smith — for Smith was founded by a woman — 
chose it as the seat of the college she planned. 
In that lovely town, whose broad and tree-shaded 
streets were used to the musing eye and the 
student's tread, there was the place for a woman's 
college. A college that should have no prepara- 
tory department devoted to getting its students 
somewhere close to the status for admission de- 
manded by the men's colleges, but which should 
set precisely the same entrance demands, and 
prove to the world once for all that a woman was 
capable of an intellectual culture equalling that 
of her brother. 

Miss Smith was a descendant of the same Lieu- 
tenant Samuel Smith, of England, who crossed 
to America and settled in Hadley in 1660, from 
whom was descended Mary Lyon, the pioneer of 
women's higher education, and founder of Mount 
Holyoke College. Sophia had grown up in Hat- 

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SMITH AND NORTHAMPTON 

field, long a town of culture and wealth, for that 
time in our history, and her own education had 
been broad, not through definite teaching, but 
because of association with men and women of 
ideas. 

Her brother Austin, dying in 1861, left to her 
a considerable sum of money. But Sophia did not 
want this money. She had no use for it, and she 
did not care to be burdened with its responsibih- 
ties. What was to be done? 

In her distress, and it was a real distress, she 
went to her pastor, demanding that he suggest 
some use for her money; something that would 
be of benefit to the entire neighbourhood, some- 
thing thai would endure. 

He gave some weeks to his decision, and then 
brought her an alternative plan: either to found 
a college for women, or to establish an institute 
for deaf mutes. 

The lady preferred the idea of a college. She 
thought it a good idea, and said that, were she a 
girl, nothing would give her greater happiness 
than to attend such a college. 

But immediately there was a great hullaballoo. 
So much so that Miss Smith gave up her college 
plan, and decided upon the deaf mute institution. 
Then occurred one of those acts of fate that make 
one believe in the Divinity that shapes our ends. 
A rich man, dying, left provision in his will for 

.H- 277 -h- 



SMITH AND NORTHAMPTON 

the deaf mutes. Miss Smith was once more en- 
couraged to take up her original idea. 

She had four principles that she wished her 
college to stand for. That the tuition should 
equal that in the men's colleges. That the Bible 
should be studied. That the girls should house, 
not in one huge building, but in cottages. She 
also thought that it was proper for men to have 
a share in the management and the instruction, 
as well as women, because she did not believe 
in isolating the sexes. 

Smith is the largest woman's college in the 
world, so it is evident that these ideas had value 
and permanency. 

Sophia Smith died in 1870, and the following 
year the college charter was signed. 

Northampton was offered the college on condi- 
tion of subscribing $25,000. The condition was 
met. Twenty-six thousand dollars was paid to 
secure the house and lands of Judge Dewey. 
Much land has since been purchased, the old hne 
running through the center of the present campus, 
but at the time there was very little money to 
spare and much to spend it for. 

It was not until September, 1875, that the college 
opened its doors to its first class — the same year 
that saw the beginning of Wellesley. A central 
building. College Hall, had been erected, and the 
Dewey House became the first dwelhng place 

-i-278-«- 



SMITH AND NORTHAMPTON 

for the students. Smith began with but one 
class, adding a new class each year, and this first 
class was very small, on account of the stiff re- 
quirements for entering. Dr. L. Clarke Seelye, 
a professor at Amherst, became first President. 

A beautiful wall surrounds the campus, and 
the college is very compact. The Library now 
makes the centre of the group of buildings, a 
beautiful and dignified structure surmounting a 
rise. We got a fine impression of the college by 
walking round it inside the wall, and down through 
College Lane, that skirts the pond. Paradise Pond, 
where the girls learn to become water nymphs, 
and where a pretty boat house has been built. 
There is a charming self-contained effect to Smith. 
The pretty homes in which the girls live, fitted in 
between the handsome academic buildings, give 
to the college a homelike and yet splendid appear- 
ance. Huge elms edge the walks and drives, and 
the greenest of lawns spread everywhere, while 
the ivy riots. Each class plants an ivy, with 
ceremony and lovely exercises, and the ivy has 
responded wholeheartedly to the treatment. 

Each of the cottages has a lady presiding over 
it who takes care both of the domestic and the 
social affairs. Smith has found that the plan 
works well, and that it is easy to make it fit in 
with the constantly growing resources required as 
the college expands. Smith had a stiff row to 

-i- 279 -i-. 



SMITH AND NORTHAMPTON 

hoe through the early years. The refusal to lower 
the entrance requirements kept many away. The 
town, seeing that the classes remained small, grew 
downhearted over the thousands it had spent, and 
criticised the management freely. But Smith 
hung on. 

Presently two preparatory schools were estab- 
lished in Northampton as feeders. The students 
began to increase. During the period of dis- 
couragement the land adjoining had gone down 
in price, and the college bought up a lot of it, 
extending to the north. It was the old story. 
With success came success. Gifts were made, 
buildings erected, a library was donated. Up 
to this period Smith had used the town library, 
which was not far away, with a complete and 
useful collection of books. 

Smith girls were extremely jealous for the 
standing of their college. They would have been 
in despair if the entrance exams or the courses 
had been made a jot easier. They not only 
wanted to equal the men; they wanted to sur- 
pass them. One of the professors who lectured 
in both colleges remarked that he noticed " that 
at Smith the classes desired to have the lessons 
longer, while at Amherst they wanted them 
shorter." 

Those early classes were very serious young 
women. Smith girls are not that way now. They 

H-280-fr- 



SMITH AND NORTHAMPTON 

keep to the old level of requirements, but they 
manage to get in a great many good times. The 
spirit between the classes is particularly friendly, 
since, coming in at first, as they did, one by one, 
there was no reason for establishing a precedent 
of control or rivalry. The different classes are 
fonder of giving each other parties and serenades 
than of any suspicion of hazing. 

Smith has been lucky in losing very few of her 
buildings. Two or three have been removed to 
make room for better, and one at least was burnt, 
on a night of excitement two years ago, but for 
the rest you can follow her story of growth easily 
enough by starting from old College Hall, and 
seeing what she has done since. 

A student who enthusiastically took us about 
told us many of the joys of the college year. 
We were standing in front of the Library, from 
which, down the hill, slopes a wide path to the 
beautiful Students' Building. 

*' Down that hill, beginning the Commencement 
exercises, the Seniors roll their hoops, and the 
one to arrive first will be the first married in the 
class. It's lots of fun to see them flying along, 
now getting all snarled up, and then shooting 
ahead without a break. But perhaps the most 
impressive thing in the year, for the students, is 
the ceremony that comes right after the hoop 
rolling. The Seniors take their places on the 

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SMITH AND NORTHAMPTON 

steps of Student for their last sing. Music 
means a great deal in Smith, and we do a 
great deal of singing. But the custom of the 
Seniors singing on the steps whenever the eve- 
ning is fine enough, that is the most effec- 
tive. 

" The other classes are all grouped round them, 
this last time, while they go through the program 
of favourite Smith songs. Then they all stand up, 
and march slowly down the steps, singing their 
farewell song, written for the occasion, words and 
music, by members of the class. When the last 
of them has left the steps, the Juniors, dressed 
in white, come out from the building and, singing 
a serenade to the Seniors, followed by their own 
step song, they take possession of the steps, which 
will be theirs for the year." 

The " Libe," as the girls affectionately call the 
library, appears not only to be the centre of the 
campus, but of the students' lives. Each has her 
own favourite chair, and they do a large part of 
their work in the great, pleasant rooms. 

" Smith needs more cottages dreadfully," we 
were told. " Now only about forty-two per cent 
of the girls can live on the campus. Northampton 
is full of lovely places to board, but we want to 
get hold of more ground — that over there, where 
the State Hospital now stands. It is the legiti- 
mate direction for us to grow next. They hold 

-i-282-J- 






\ 




2Vic Old Homestead of Judge Deicey, tmth its 
Columns and Doric Simplicity 



SMITH AND NORTHAMPTON 

it too high for the present. But we are all sure 
it will come to Smith some day." 

"Have you any fraternities?" 

Smith hasn't needed them, with her way of 
living, and she has no apparent desire for them. 
She has plenty of clubs; just running over them 
hastily gave quite an effect. There is the Tel- 
scopium, which appropriately holds its reunions 
in the Observatory, topping the hill beyond the 
Library. There is the Granddaughter Society, 
meeting in the Haven House when the graduate 
members come back to talk over old times. Of 
course there is a Glee Club, and there is a Studio 
Club, a Voice Club, a Greek Club, and the Clef 
and Colloquium. These are only some among the 
number, but they give an idea of Smith's varied 
undergraduate hfe, of the many things that keenly 
engage the students' interest. 

The Gym is another important part of the girls' 
existence. They are obliged to learn to swim dur- 
ing the Freshman year, and to take certain pre- 
scribed exercises. Then there are the crews, row- 
ing on Paradise Pond, and lately a Float Day 
has been established, with all its picturesque fea- 
tures of decorated boats and singing. 

Campus Evening of Commencement is fairy- 
land at Smith. It begins with singing, the whole 
college joining in, and later the Alumnae, the old 
song leaders of the graduate classes who have 

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SMITH AND NORTHAMPTON 

returned leading once more. Gradually, as the 
singing goes on, the lanterns, hundreds and hun- 
dreds of them, hung from every tree and swinging 
in long chains, are lighted. 

" In this magic light you see the girls frantically 
running about, trying to get hold of other mem- 
bers of their own class, and then serenade the 
other classes. If they come across any of the old 
classes, seated in one of the great arched door- 
ways or on the steps of one of the cottages, why, 
they serenade them too. All gathered together 
at last, the four classes serenade the President. 
The night goes on and on, no one is tired, every 
one is happy." 

Next we were led to the Botanical Garden and 
House, a lovely sight in this season of flowers. 
In little ponds were grouped a medley of water 
plants. Across Paradise Pond Paradise Woods 
climbed, and way off to the right was Allen Field 
and the Club House. 

There were a lot of smocks to be seen on the 
girls who were hurrying from one part of the 
campus to another, caught in the busy college 
life. These smocks have been found to be a 
splendid garment to wear to morning chapel. 

"Just a yank or two, and you're dressed!" 

It was expressive. 

" Isn't it," Sister wanted me to agree, " a de- 
light to see the simple dressing of all these col- 

-?- 284 -(- 



SMITH AND NORTHAMPTON 

lege girls. After the overdressed women that 
crowd New York, tottering along on those high 
heels, these girls, in smocks and middies, with 
tennis shoes on their feet, dashing about these 
lovely paths and crossing the greens, are refresh- 
ing. You get to feel, in New York, that there 
isn't a natural human being left on earth." 

Just at the time we saw Smith she was getting 
ready for all her Class Day and Commencement 
fun, and also for the Shakespere play the Seniors 
were to give. Twelfth Night had been chosen, 
and there were plenty of new ideas to be used in 
the scenic side of the play. Heavy falling, rich 
curtains of various hues were to provide the back 
drops, and the rest of the properties aimed at 
essential simphcity. As practically the whole 
play was being rehearsed, no time could be given 
to elaborate sets. And then, in our colleges to- 
day, we find the interest greatest in the newer 
forms of art, of decoration, of acting. Simplicity 
truly is having its innings at last. 

"How about the war?" I wanted to know. 

" Smith takes the war with a full sense of her 
responsibilities. The Senior class has been train- 
ing in several directions to be ready to give help 
where it is most needed. We have our Red Cross 
and Nurses Training societies, and we have raised 
thousands of dollars for the relief of one or an- 
other of the countries suffering under this war. 

-i-285-J- 



SMITH AND NORTHAMPTON 

I think the Seniors feel it to be a privilege that 
they are to graduate at such a time in the coun- 
try's history, when trained men and women are 
so desperately needed." 

Smith has evolved a clever method of having 
her Ivy Day parade orderly by instituting what 
they call the Sophomore Push Committee. There 
is little room on the campus for the big crowds 
that assemble to see the Ivy March, and so this 
line of Sophomores marches ahead and quietly 
but effectively clears the way. The Seniors are 
usually dressed in white, the Juniors in colours, 
and the Seniors march between Junior Ushers to 
the place where the ivy is to be planted. It makes 
a delicate colour scheme, full of the spirit of youth. 

Smith's Presidents have always been men. 
President Seelye had the college in his hands from 
two years before it opened to 1910. He still 
comes to the Commencements, and is greeted 
with dehrious joy and any amount of serenading. 
President Burton followed him, but this is his 
last year there. Smith has been lucky in 
having so long a term granted to her first Presi- 
dent. Wellesley in the same time had changed 
Presidents frequently, through death or ill health 
or other reasons. Judging from his accomplish- 
ment during his long term of office. President 
Seelye was a peculiarly fortunate choice. No 
amount of discouragement quelled his energy or 



SMITH AND NORTHAMPTON 

swerved him from those principles to which his 
college was devoted. Department after depart- 
ment grew until it must have larger quarters, and 
somehow these were found. For instance, the 
scientific work had presently to find more room, 
and Lilly Hall was given to the college by Alfred 
T. Lilly. Again the science classes swelled in 
size, and a new chemical building became impera- 
tive. One man came forward with ten thousand, 
fifteen thousand more was raised, the college put 
in another fifteen thousand, and a beautiful new 
building was added to Smith's possessions. This 
stands in the ground belonging to the college 
across Elm Street, where there are several of the 
houses for the students. 

So it went with everything during that thirty- 
five years under President Seelye, and so it has 
continued under President Burton. College Hall, 
with its fine square tower and gabled facade, 
built in the form of an ell, is still a handsome part 
of Smith. But it must yield both in beauty and 
in size to many a newer building. The Gym- 
nasium, beautiful Seelye Hall, with the fine round 
tower that joins the two wings, the Art Gallery, 
the John M. Greene Hall, with the Library, make 
a magnificent and harmonious group. Among 
these the old homestead of Judge Dewey, with its 
Colonial columns and Doric simplicity, falls in 
charmingly with the general scheme. 

-H-287-i- 



SMITH AND NORTHAMPTON 

We were told a good deal about Smith's relig- 
ious work. Her College Association of Christian 
Workers, her Missionary Association, the College 
Settlement Association. The missionary society 
has established a Chair in China, and the College 
Settlement is most practical, bringing the students 
into close relation with many of the problems 
that must be met if our social order is to improve 
— is, for that matter, to continue. 

"But perhaps the most interesting thing about 
Smith is that she was in so much a pioneer," said 
our college friend. " She was not a pioneer col- 
lege, of course. But she was first to open without a 
preparatory department. In this every college for 
women worthy the name has followed her. Vassar 
closed her preparatory department in 1888, Wel- 
lesley hers eight years earlier. Mount Holyoke 
followed the example in 1898, and Byrn Mawr 
opened in 1885 without a preparatory department. 
Bryn Mawr, after carefully studying the colleges 
that had preceded her, decided that Smith's plan 
of resident houses to hold from twenty-five to 
fifty students, each with its own table and sepa- 
rate management, was by far the best. When 
Smith first opened the papers of the day used to 
run articles saying that the students were mostly 
ill with brain fever and nervous breakdowns, 
owing to the terrific strain of the curriculum. 
Now the other colleges have the same system of 

-8-288-?- 



SMITH AND NORTHAMPTON 

studies, with such variations as is natural with dif- 
ferent Faculties and Boards, but with the same 
high standards. As for the students, if any of 
them have brain fever — incidentally of course 
there's no such thing as brain fever — they conceal 
it under an aspect of robust health that the milk- 
maid of an earher time might envy." 

We happened at the moment to be in sight of 
the tennis grounds. They were filled with flying 
figures who swatted the balls with no gentle tap; 
who ran and sprang with lithe ease. Basket ball 
too had its active devotees. On the lake we had 
seen the slender boats slipping through the water, 
pulled along by shm but brown and strong young 
arms. Gymnasium and swimming tank, each had 
athletic young women delighting in their healthy 
bodies. Out on Allen Field there would be 
contests and games. Yet these girls, for all their 
vigourous bodily exercise, found time to get their 
A.B.'s, to secure honours and fellowships, to 
carry on with success Smith's fine intellectual life. 
There were certainly no signs of brain fever. 

We wandered over the campus, loath to go 
from the place. By us went students, and every 
one seemed to have something different to talk 
about. We heard cryptic words as to " bacon 
bats on the river bank." We knew the river 
meant the Connecticut, but what was a bacon 
bat? Laughter and talk next about the hurdy- 

-i-289-h- 



SMITH AND NORTHAMPTON 

gurdy and the dancing under the apple trees, and 
the girls who were to carry the Ivy Chain. We 
heard too the immortal topic of Man under dis- 
cussion : 

" Maybe my Prom man wasn't so much. But 
I had a good time Garden Party night. And 
wasn't it lovely down by the fountain, with the 
lanterns? I think that's one of the prettiest 
things we have." 

" Say, girls, jump into your bloomers and come 
out to Allen this P. M." 

" It's settled that the Seniors are to wear cap 
and gown when they receive their degrees ! " 

These and other scraps reached us, letting in 
little gleams of the undergraduate life upon our 
understanding. Slowly we made our way back 
to College Hall, and stepped out on the street. 
We had left the College Campus. But we found 
that we had not left the college. 

For Northampton is more completely a college 
town than any other we had yet seen. Since 
more than half the Smith girls live in it, scat- 
tered among its charming houses in one or two 
rooms, according to their demands and their 
means, and since its streets and squares have 
almost the look of collegiate beauty that adheres 
to a campus, you cannot shake off the feeling 
that you are still within the college precincts. 
Northampton streets are charmingly irregular, 

-i-290-i- 



SMITH AND NORTHAMPTON 

and were it not that they are well paved, you 
might almost call them roads, so well do they 
hold their rural character. New England is the 
home of fine elms and noble maples, but here 
in Northampton she outdoes herself. 

After we had seen a httle of the old village 
we began to feel that life there was just one school 
after another. Any street you took was almost 
certain to lead you to a girls' preparatory, or a 
public library (there are two of them), or to an 
agricultural institute, or a school for the deaf 
and dumb, or to the people's institute or some- 
where else of an instructive or a charitable nature. 
And each of these places was attractive, charming 
under huge trees and green with climbing ivy, 
usually having spacious grounds that aid in giving 
Northampton its look of a park turned by some 
happy chance into a town. 

" I should think the girls who have spent four 
years in such an environment must find it hard 
to settle down in any that is less pleasing," I 
remarked, as we waited for our automobile 
friends, who had promised to take us to Williams- 
town. " When I contrast Northampton with 
some of the Middle West towns, or the common- 
place manufacturing cities we have reared in such 
plenty all over our fair land, I ache to think of 
having to hve in one of them after having lived 
here. The whole place, from the Connecticut 

-+•291-?- 



SMITH AND NORTHAMPTON 

River to Mount Holyoke there, with its superb 
view, which you haven't seen, but which I chmbed 
to a few years ago, — and it's worth a far longer 
chmb, — is the perfect ideal of a college town. It's 
old and gracious and beautiful, set down between 
river and meadow and mountain . . . and in- 
stead of the time-worn theory that there must be 
a constant feud between town and gown, North- 
ampton and Smith are clamped together by every 
sort of tie." 

" Have you seen everything? " our friends 
wanted to know, as they returned from their own 
forth-faring, and we got into the car. 

" We've seen a lot," said Sister. " But you'd 
have to live four years in the place to get hold 
of it — and that, by the way, is the trouble in 
seeing any college. They can't really be seen — 
they have to be lived." 



292 



CHAPTER XIII 

Williams of the Mountains 

Going over Hoosac Mountain is one of the ac- 
complishments that makes you reahse the auto- 
mobile has come to stay. 

Whenever I had gone to Williams before it 
had been through the tunnel, and that experience, 
as a professor phrased it, is " quite other." Going 
over Hoosac has elements of the glorious, but 
going through it you simply choke and wish there 
were no mountains. On this particular morning 
we loved mountains, and we saw them all around 
us as we mounted our own. In the turns and 
twists we took we were presented with every side 
of innumerable views, and practically each of these 
views had a mountain in it somewhere. 

On the way to Williamstown, after finishing 
with Hoosac, you reach North Adams, the nearest 
thing to a real town within reach of the college. 
Here the boys come to stir things up when the 
routine of college life palls upon their spirits and 
when there is no time to make the fifty miles 
to Albany. North Adams is a busy, crowded, 
hustling sort of place that may have its beauty 
spots, but which does not show them to the casual 

-c- 293 -J- 



WILLIAMS OF THE MOUNTAINS 

tourist on his way from Hoosac Mountain to 
Williamstown. We sped through it without 
stopping, ate up the few miles that remained, 
along which huge trolley cars boomed and 
screeched at intervals, and rolled up to the Grey- 
lock Hotel, on beautiful Main Street, with ap- 
petites that fairly shouted. 

Williams is in a valley with a ring of mountains 
circling it, the highest in the state, Greylock, a 
noble bulk, being only a few miles away, and 
offering a glorious tramp for Mountain Day, 
a college holiday occurring some fine day in 
October, when the forests are at the height of 
their autumnal beauty. Since this is a movable 
feast, notice is given on the previous afternoon, 
at about four o'clock, by ringing the chimes of 
the Chapel. Next morning, bright and early, 
groups and couples set off for a whole day in 
the open, and though there is many another de- 
lightful climb, Greylock comes first. 

I had been at Williams on Mountain Day, and 
seen the Freshman start away to begin to make 
their acquaintance with the Berkshires and with 
each other, and watched them drifting back at 
the end of the day, tired, happy, friendly, full of 
talk over the day's incidents. And it had always 
seemed as though this were one of the best holi- 
days any college had instituted. In Yale it used 
to be the thing for the Freshmen to climb the 

-J- 294-!- 



WILLIAMS OF THE MOUNTAINS 

two Rocks, and not to consider themselves true 
Yale men till that was done. But the thing was 
never given the dignity of a college rite, and it 
has almost disappeared to-day, as one of the 
younger graduates told us, deprecating the fact. 
It will not disappear at Williams — year after 
year bands of young men will follow the trails 
on East Mountain, Grey lock and the other slopes 
and peaks of that delectable valley, finding each 
other more swiftly than they could do in a week 
of routine college hfe, and discovering that there 
is no keener joy for the healthy body than that 
found in arduous exercise in the open air, with 
the brooks running beside the climbing paths, 
and the blood dancing in the veins. 

" Those, at least, are my sentiments," I re- 
marked to Sister, after expatiating to her on the 
above theme. We had been sitting on the 
veranda, watching the idle stream of life along 
Main Street. Main Street at Williams is a 
mattet of double rows of fine trees and parking, 
so that there is more grass than there is road or 
sidewalk. It is so wide that right in the middle 
of its western stretch the Field Memorial Park 
is comfortably accommodated, and at one point 
West College steps right out into it in the 
friendliest way imaginable. West College, built 
when the college was founded, in 1790, is the 
oldest of the buildings, and is used for a dormi- 

H-295-J- 



WILLIAMS OF THE MOUNTAINS 

tory. One envies the boys who live there, for 
though there isn't a spot in Wilhamstown that 
doesn't give you a twinge of regret when you 
reahse that it isn't yours for good, to live in and 
stay in, yet that old college, with its view across 
the lovely street to the Thompson Chapel, whose 
white stone Gothic tower points its exquisite finials 
above the arching elms, while below, the crossing 
paths draw geometric patterns through the lawns, 
that college building seems to have the best of it. 

Williams, for all it is such a child of the 
mountains, was founded by a sailor. To be sure 
he had given up seafaring for a soldier's life — 
and death — before his fortune came to do its 
work here. He died in the French and Indian 
War of 1755, a Colonel under Sir Wilham 
Johnson, shot on a reconnoitering tour near Lake 
George, at the age of forty. In his will, made 
just before going into battle, he had left pro- 
vision for the founding of a free school in what 
was then West Hoosac. The settlement was 
to be called Wilhamstown, after him, Ephraim 
Williams. The rest was silence. 

It took the trustees thirty-five years to make 
a start, and to build West College. Next year 
the Free School was opened. This school was in 
two parts, one entirely free for the elementary 
branches, and a grammar school that charged a 
fee of thirty-five shillings a year, perhaps as a 

-+•296-?- 



WILLIAMS OF THE MOUNTAINS 

reminder of the wasted years gone by. Be that 
as it may, the grammar school proved extremely 
popular. The trustees decided to do something 
bigger, and in 1793 they secured a charter from 
the Legislature, and Wilhams College was a 
fact. 

Williams has the distinction of issuing the first 
college catalogue ever printed in this country. 
This event befell in 1795, and three years later 
the continued success of Williams induced the 
building of East College. This was burned in 
1841, but rebuilt the next year, and with Berk- 
shire, Fayerweather and Currier Halls it now 
forms the beautiful Berkshire Quadrangle. All 
these are dormitories, and Currier contains also 
the college commons, with a charming dining 
room, and a club room for the members of the 
Commons. The campus on which these buildings 
face, together with the heating plant that closes 
one end, is terraced up from the street, steps lead- 
ing to the buildings, and the effect is very good. 

Williamstown is called the Missionary College, 
and in Mission Park, a lovely ten-acre plot of 
trees, shrubs, carefully tended lawn and clamber- 
ing vines, there is a stone shaft called the Hay- 
stack Monument. At the spot where it stands 
there was once, so tradition says, a haystack. 
There, in 1806, Samuel John Mills, a Divinity 
student, held a prayer meeting, in which he begged 

-j-297-i- 



WILLIAMS OF THE MOUNTAINS 

for missionaries who would be willing to carry 
the Gospel to the heathen. This was the be- 
ginning of the entire American Missionary move- 
ment. Wilhams has continued to graduate men 
who have gone into missionary work, and now 
and then, around the old monument, there will 
be a gathering while some one or more returned 
missionaries tell of their experiences and ask for 
recruits. Strange looking men, some of the older 
ones, with long beards and spare frames that 
witness to hardships endured and dangers suf- 
fered for their cause, and strange the tales they 
relate of coral reefed islands and tropic forests, 
of Chinese villages and Indian huts. 

The best way to get an idea of Williams is to 
walk along Main Street from the Grey lock to 
the Methodist Church. First you pass the houses 
of the professors and the fraternity houses, facing 
each other amicably across that wide expanse, 
with spreading lawns encompassing them and 
many flowers blooming close to the houses. West 
College comes next, with two dormitories near 
it, while opposite are the President's attractive 
house, the Congregational Church and Hopkins 
Hall. This was built in 1890 and remodelled in 
1909, and is one of those florid looking stone struc- 
tures that leave you entirely uninterested. They 
are like some people; prosperous and efficient in 
appearance, but dull and commonplace as to 

-i-298-i- 



WILLIAMS OF THE MOUNTAINS 

personality. A few steps beyond on the same 
side of the street as Hopkins, which is the seat 
of the offices and Faculty room and the general 
business centre of the college, is the charming 
Thompson Chapel. As the doors were open. 
Sister and I walked in and sat down for a moment 
in the cool, spacious interior, with its upsweep 
of pillar and arch, the dark pews making a strong 
note in the softness of the general effect. It is 
a beautiful place, and the chimes that sound so 
sweetly give it the perfect collegiate finish one 
asks of a Chapel in such a place. 

On up the stately street, stopping to give a 
glance at the Lasell Gymnasium, with a dome 
supported on arches, opposite the Chapel, to 
Griffin Hall, one of the lecture halls, which, built 
in 1828, was moved here and remodelled in 1904. 
It is a charming old thing, on simple lines, with 
a graceful cupola. Another building in much 
the same style is Jesup Hall on the way to 
Grace Court and the Laboratories, south of Main 
Street. Before the Laboratories, modern build- 
ings in every sense, there runs a fence. It does 
not look comfortable, but it is in a way a seat 
of honour, or at least of achievement. For you 
must have passed your Freshman year before 
you are allowed to sit upon it. 

North of Main Street, you can follow de- 
lightful ways to other houses given over to the 

-+299 -J- 



WILLIAMS OF THE MOUNTAINS 

professors, and here is the Williams Inn, an old 
home rather than a mere inn. Come away, back 
toward Main Street and you pass one of the 
newest additions to the college, Grace Hall, 
with columns and pediment dignifying the fine 
Georgian body. This is the auditorium, and 
close to it is another new building, Williams 
Hall, a long and solidly built dormitory that has 
room for close upon a hundred men. 

Williams has no regular campus or yard, so 
called. You find that the whole valley floor 
on which the college stands, reaching from the 
village proper, where the shops and such business 
as is run there find a home, out to the open 
slopes and links, the pastures and woods, are 
campus. Each street and path goes through a 
park, each building has its pleasant lawns or 
terraces. In summer the place becomes a summer 
home of the rich, who hire the professors' houses 
or have built others for themselves, and who fill 
the hotel and the inn. Pittsfield is but twenty 
miles away, and fine roads lead to all the loveliest 
of Massachusetts' hill and mountain scenery. As 
for the trails that start almost in the centre of 
the village, they take you to glens and outlooks, 
to rounded peaks and silent valleys, clothed thick 
with forest or rough with broken rocks, pic- 
turesque as anything to be found in the East. 

Williams, in its undergraduate life, lives in the 
:-j- 300 -?- 



'it 




I .>/.. 




Tliompson Chapel, whose Stone Tower Points 

its Exquisite White Finials ^ihove the 

Arching Elms 



WILLIAMS OF THE MOUNTAINS 

dormitories and the fraternity houses. It is thor- 
oughly occupied, and no man can sHp through be- 
cause he is a first-class athlete or if he believes that 
college is a place in which life is simply active 
enjoyment of leisure for amusement. 

As soon as the Freshman arrives things begin 
to happen to him. After getting settled in his 
room, he begins to go to Jesup Hall, where a 
large part of the undergraduate activities find a 
home. Here the classes hold their meetings, and 
here the Freshman can confer with the chairman 
of the WiUiams College Association, and begin to 
get hep to the future before him. Presently he 
is called out to engage in the great tug of war, 
that marks the test of strength between the 
Freshman and Sophomore classes. Fortunately, 
to give this tug a dramatic effect, Wilhams 
is conveniently adjacent to the Green River. On 
one bank the Sophs are arrayed, on the opposite 
one the Freshies. Naturally the idea is to geli 
the opposing side into the nice chilly stream. 
And at the crack of a pistol fired by a Senior, 
the scrambling begins. It is worth watching, if 
only for the extreme reluctance to get wet dis- 
played by every tugger on the rope. 

Another test of strength between these two 
enemy classes is the pushball contest — first the 
pull and then the push. 

Presently the rushing by the fraternity houses 
-hSOl-i- 



WILLIAMS OF THE MOUNTAINS 

begins, safeguarded by a carefully thought-out set 
of rules and regulations. In the meanwhile 
Mountain Day has come and gone. Freshmen 
by this time have learned that they can't wear 
the nice swishy corduroy trousers that decorate 
the upperclass legs, nor so much as a streak of 
purple, Williams' colour. They can, and must, 
wear their little caps, however. But then they 
are strictly forbidden to put on a sheepskin or 
a mackinaw coat. Corduroy and moleskin are 
also forbidden. 

Yet it is clearly provided that they are never 
to be seen on the street without a coat. But 
they must be mighty choosy in the material. 
Possibly these sartorial difficulties console them 
for the fact that they are not permitted to dance 
at the Greylock nor to be seen smoking on the 
street. Nor are they ever to be seen in a front 
row seat at Jesup HaU or the Gymnasium, and 
even in North Adams they have to keep in the 
rear. Spring Street, too, has its inhibitions. It 
is the street leading toward Grace Court and the 
Laboratories, and has convenient benches on it. 
Yes, we guessed it — for this information was 
being conveyed to us by an earnest Sophomore — 
Freshmen must not sit upon those benches. Also, 
each Freshman is begged to show a proper defer- 
ence to upperclassmen. 

" What, let me inquire, is a proper deference? " 
-e-302-«- 



WILLIAMS OF THE MOUNTAINS 

It was I who wanted to know. For opinions 
might vary a good deal — particularly the opinions 
of the Freshman and the upperclassman. Was 
he supposed to give a sweeping bow in passing, 
or merely to get off the pavement? Did he stand 
at attention, or was goose-stepping demanded? 

"Oh, well, just — ^you know ..." was the 
response. We kept a lookout as we walked about, 
but it was so late in the year that Freshmen had 
practically ceased to be Freshmen. Their caps 
had long gone, though the corduroys had not 
arrived. Perhaps the deference stage only lasts 
a few months, until acquaintance has been made. 
At least, we could see no signs of it. 

"And, of course, no Freshman must spin a 
top in front of Eddie's." 

That was final. It had a ring to it. 

"Who thinks them up?" asked Sister. 

But there she struck a mystery. 

Along after the second football game the Fresh- 
men engage in a parade. Parades are not the 
happy occurrences of any and all occasions, as at 
Brown, but they occur, and this one, with each 
fledgling student expressing his sense of humour 
through the garments upon him, is something all 
Williamstown turns out to see. The parade 
marches from the Gym to the Greylock, and 
there the chosen stars give a vaudeville. 

"And they get off some pretty good stunts," 
-J- 303-*- 



WILLIAMS OF THE MOUNTAINS 

admitted the Sophomore, who, after all, had once 
been a Freshman. 

In May the baseball season is in full swing, 
and after the Amherst game the four classes 
assemble on the Laboratory campus, where each 
class sings two songs, the original work of its 
members, or of some one or two of them. This 
is the famous Interclass Singing contest, one of 
Williams' dearest traditions. The songs may or 
may not be good, but to hear the boys singing 
out there with all the fervour and conviction on 
earth, and with the fresh and sweet voices of 
youth, is something distinctly worth while. 

The students have their own fire brigade, with 
full apparatus, and are ready to co-operate with 
the Williamstown regulars whenever a fire breaks 
out. 

Among the societies that are not Greek Letter 
are the literary groups, publishers of the Lit. 
and the Record, the latter a tri-weekly, and the 
Purple Cow, where humour finds its home. There 
is also a small club of upperclassmen, the Pipe 
and Quill, a most exclusive organisation of men 
interested in the English classics. Lectures for 
this group are given by members of the Faculty, 
and speakers of renown from outside the college 
limits. A Senior society that is not secret, and 
that exists for the purpose of upholding the 
Williams spirit, and of furthering in every way 

-i- 304 H- 



WILLIAMS OF THE MOUNTAINS 

the highest interests of the college, is the Gar- 
goyle, now twenty-two years old. There is much 
of honour in being a Gargoyle man, the maximum 
membership amounting to twenty, who are chosen 
publicly after the ball game on Decoration Day. 
Juniors only are eligible to such choice. But 
Williams has its own ideas as to the limit of the 
Freshman or the Junior ranking. A Freshman 
remains such until he has passed the required 
Gym and Hygiene courses, and a man is reck- 
oned as a Junior by the Gargoyle if he has not 
more than fifty-five semester hours to pass before 
graduation. It is on their working record that 
men are chosen by Gargoyle. 

No college is complete without its Dramatics. 
Williams', called the Cap and Bells, gives two 
plays a year, if not more. In the fall the inten- 
tion is to amuse, and the plays chosen are of the 
type that is supposed to interest the tired business 
man. But in the spring the student's fancy is 
turned toward serious things, and the play reflects 
this mood. There are always trips to various 
cities, where a good time is had by all, including 
the audiences. 

Once at least the part of the leading lady in 
one of the plays, I think we were told it was 
*' A Pair of Green Stockings," was taken by a 
girl. Unbelievable in college dramatics. But 
this is how it happened: 

-J- 305-?- 



WILLIAMS OF THE MOUNTAINS 

There was just one man at the college who 
could take the part, and take it he did, splendidly. 
But the day before the performance was to 
be given he was called home by an imperative 
summons. What was to be done? The seats 
were sold, everything was on the tiptoe of expec- 
tation, and no one in Cap and Bells knew the 
part, nor, knowing, could have played it. It 
was a frantic time. 

Then some one recalled that Mount Holyoke 
had given the play only a short time before, and 
that the girl who had taken the lead had been par- 
ticularly delightful. Would it be possible? Could 
it be managed? The Dean was dragged into the 
question, every one who could give a suggestion 
was pressed into service, and at last Mount 
Holyoke was approached. 

So there was one woman in the cast that night, 
and most successfully she played her part, re- 
ceiving an ovation when she made her first appear- 
ance that almost swept the roof away. One can 
imagine with what snap and zest the play went, 
and it would have been a treat to hear the story 
of it all as told to the rest of Mount Holyoke's 
girls when the heroine of the occasion got back to 
that college. 

There was drilling going on here, though not 
very many of the students had left college to 
join any military unit. But they were getting 

-J-306-+- 



WILLIAMS OF THE MOUNTAINS 

ready to go if called, learning to march and the 
manual of arms and all the preliminary work of 
the soldier, in so far as it could be managed 
without interfering too seriously with college 
work. 

"We want the men to finish here before they 
make up their minds to go to the trenches," said 
one in authority, with whom we spoke. " On the 
whole we have held the classes pretty well to- 
gether. The drilling is good for them, but they 
have a task here that is important, and that they 
ought not to drop unless they have to do so. That 
time is not yet here." 

Williams is another of our colleges that has 
instituted the Honour System, first imagined as 
a sane and fine manner to manage young men by 
Thomas Jefferson, in the college that had been 
first on our fist. Here its earliest use was in 
1896. A committee made up of four Seniors, 
three Juniors, two Sophomores and one Freshman 
has charge of all cases that may be suspected 
of violation of the rules, and in case of such 
violation the penalty is expulsion for any stu- 
dent not a Freshman. A Freshman is sus- 
pended. 

Since 1914 there has been a Student Council, 
with powers similar to those we had found exer- 
cised elsewhere. Williams has been a bit late 
getting to these things, but now they run as 

-i-307-i- 



WILLIAMS OF THE MOUNTAINS 

smoothly as though she had never been without 
them. 

Williams also has its Outing Club, organised 
in 1914, and now joining with Dartmouth in 
various activities. It works both in summer and 
winter, and there are separate leaders for the 
different interests. There are trail markers, 
hunters, fishers, snowshoers and ski runners 
in the club, which is rapidly catching the interest 
of the college. Last winter there was a carnival, 
and next season will have another. Like Dart- 
mouth, Williams finds that her sons take easily 
to winter frolicking, and that only a beginning 
in enjoying winter sports has so far been made. 

" There is corking skiing all round here," said 
the student who had helped us in so far as was 
possible to get a notion of the undergraduates' 
Williams. " These mountains that come right up 
to the campus, for that's pretty near what they 
do, are full of the finest kind of ground for skiing. 
Why, Dartmouth has to go miles for what's at 
our front door ! " 

Weston Field is the college Athletic Field, with 
cinder track, football and baseball grounds and 
a field house. Here the intercollegiate games are 
played. On what is called the Old Campus, lying 
between Main Street and the Field, there are 
grounds for the interclass teams to play, and for 
practice work, and there is a baseball cage. 

-J- 308 -J- 



WILLIAMS OF THE MOUNTAINS 

In fact, Williams has provided very thoroughly 
for the health and the amusement, as well as 
for the working hours of her students. Since it 
is clearly the habit of colleges and universities to 
choose beautiful situations, she is not peculiar in 
the site she has found for herself, or rather, which 
Colonel Williams selected for her. It is ex- 
traordinarily lovely, to be sure, cupped in its 
circhng hills and so bowered with great trees that 
it looks more like a forest than a college when 
you look down upon it from one of those friendly 
surrounding mountains. 

Years ago, on a fall day, I had walked up 
Greylock to the Hopper, and had finally got to 
the top, and stayed there for the night, in the 
little rest house where they give you food and 
a bed. I had come back in the morning, starting 
very early, and when I first looked down at 
Williamstown it was hidden under billows of 
fleecy mist, which gradually broke and vanished 
away, leaving here and there a long white streamer 
behind them, Hke the veil from some fleeing prin- 
cess. Never shall I forget the loveliness of that 
view, with the silvery green trees faintly burning 
into yellow and red, the houses and stately college 
halls gradually showing themselves, the sloping 
hills and fields, all mysterious in the haze that 
still remained, looking as though new-created, half 
unreal. 

-^309-^- 



CHAPTER XIV 

Vassar 

The story of the founding of Vassar is really the 
history of a man's soul. 

For more than sixty years Matthew Vassar 
struggled to make a fortune. He came from 
England when a little boy, and went with his 
family to a farm near Poughkeepsie. Here he 
grew up while the farming turned to a brewery 
business, and moved into town. Under the 
rule of a severe father, headstrong and quick- 
tempered, the boy was given practically no 
instruction, hardly knowing more than to read 
and write, and these with difficulty. He was 
supposed to work for his keep, and to work 
hard. Presently he was apprenticed by his father 
to a tanner for seven years, but just before the 
articles were signed he ran away from home with 
his mother's connivance, she walking with him as 
far as the village on the river from which he was 
to be ferried to the opposite shore, parting from 
her boy with tears. 

His worldly possessions were six shillings and 
a bundle wrapped up in a bandana handker- 
chief. But before the day was out he had work 

-*-310-*- 



VASSAR 

with a farmer and small shopkeeper, and three 
years later was given a salary of three hundred 
dollars a year, so satisfactory was the work he 
did. He left then for a better paying position, 
but was presently called by his father to come 
home and take care of the books of the brewery, 
now doing a fine business. 

Things seemed going well, but a fire destroyed 
the brewery and ruined Matthew's father as well 
as indirectly causing his older brother's death. 

This happened in 1811. The next year Mat- 
thew Vassar started in to make his own way in 
business. He was twenty years old. He hired 
part of an old dye house, and began brewing 
ale. Then he opened the first oyster and ale 
house in Poughkeepsie. He also got married. 

All day long he worked. Brewing his ale, 
selling it to customers, selling the grain that had 
been used to make the drink by hawking it 
through the streets, and serving till midnight in 
his little restaurant. 

That was his life for more than thirty years, 
with a constantly increasing success and ever- 
growing wealth. New breweries had to be built, 
and in time many men were working in his 
employ. By 1845 fortune had come. 

Up to this time there had been no signs to 
show that the short, stout little gentleman, with 
the large, well-shaped head and the Napoleonic 

-e-311-!- 



VASSAR 

profile, as the silhouette cut at the time reveals 
him, had anything but the instinct for business 
and saving (he grudged the spending of a penny 
that would not show solid value received), in the 
makeup of his character. 

And now comes the moment when the idea for 
Vassar was born, and when the dormant soul of 
the man began to assert itself. It was a big 
soul, and it was satisfied only with a great 
accomplishment. 

He went to Europe on what was probably the 
first vacation he ever took. There he visited 
Guy's Hospital, a charitable institution, and there 
the idea of using his money for some charitable 
enterprise struck him. A niece of his in Pough- 
keepsie was teaching a small school, which later 
developed into " a female seminary," and it was 
in talks with this niece that the conception of 
founding a college for women first broke upon 
his mind. 

But it was a man, Milo P. Jewett, who did 
most of the hard work connected with getting 
the thing focused. It was he who suggested " a 
college for young women which shall be to them 
what Yale and Harvard are to young men." 

There were scattered schools and what Dr. 
Jewett termed " so-called colleges " for women 
in existence, but there was no true endowed 
college. 



VASSAR 

Probably if there had been no Dr. Jewett 
there would have been no Vassar to-day. The 
brewer's fortune would have been scattered among 
a number of small benefactions, a school here, a 
library there, an asylum or hospital. There was 
plenty of opposition to the scheme, not only 
from Mr. Vassar's family but from many 
outsiders. But Dr. Jewett worked unceasingly 
for the purpose that had caught his imagina- 
tion, and held the Founder's interest to the 
original conception — " The first grand perma- 
nent endowed Female College in the United 
States." 

In 1861 the charter was granted, and the first 
building was staked out on the day when Fort 
Sumter fell. 

Through the four years of the Civil War the 
building of Vassar went forward. Her President 
was appointed, naturally no other than Dr. 
Jewett. Her Trustees were chosen, and Dr. 
Jewett was sent to Europe to study the best 
methods of instruction. He came back with a 
splendid curriculum, broad as any yet known, 
with great plans for a first-class equipment, 
including an art gallery and library, great en- 
dowments, scientific apparatus; all this in 1863! 
He insisted that the college must fulfil expecta- 
tions by opening in the following year, and 
pressed all his plans with the enthusiasm and 

-j-313-f- 



VASSAR 

fervour of his temperament, against a growing 
opposition. 

This opposition won, and President Jewett 
resigned before the opening of the college to which 
he had given years of ardent work. The actual 
factor was a letter he had written under great 
nervous strain and considerable heat of temper, 
in which he asserted that the Founder was showing 
an increasingly childish and vacillating spirit. 
This letter was put into Matthew Vassar's hands, 
and the break followed. 

But Vassar College was not to be stopped now. 
It possessed an unusually good equipment for the 
time, its charter was singularly broad, and it had, 
in its Founder, a man who was growing to meet 
the opportunity in a remarkable manner. He 
wanted the best, and every day he saw further 
to what that best meant. 'No small and mean 
rules should warp the women coming here to 
work and to study. He wanted women to stand 
beside men as its professors, he wanted the re- 
ligious element based not on this church or that, 
but on every Christian church. As he said, " Let 
our pupils see and know that beyond every dif- 
ference there is, after all, but one God, one 
Gospel; and that the spires of whatsoever church 
forever point to heaven." 

On September 20, 1865, the college opened. 
The great building was ready, the gardens and 

-j-314-e- 



VASSAR 

parks were laid out and blooming, a curriculum 
had been prepared that had weathered many 
vicissitudes, being forced to bow in some degree 
to the ideas current at the time, but which worked 
fairly well, and which was in the hands of a fine 
Faculty. Vassar was open, and to it, from all over 
the country, came eager students, some as young 
as fifteen, many in their early twenties, others 
mature women who had longed for a wider horizon 
and saw in Matthew Vassar's realised vision a 
hope come true. 

Vassar opened as Vassar Female College, but 
there was strong objection to the word female, 
and Mrs. Sarah J. Hale, editor of " Godey's 
Lady's Book," made a successful effort to have 
the word stricken out. In 1867 the marble slab 
in the front of the original, now known as the 
Main Building, was taken out and the present one 

VASSAR COLLEGE 
Founded A. D. 1861 

substituted. 

It had taken twenty years from Matthew 
Vassar's visit to London and the hospital that 
first spoke to him of a use for his money other 
than that of decorating his country home and 
laying out his private grounds, to the opening 
of the college that bears his name. They had 

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VASSAR 

been twenty years of happiness, of great spiritual 
and intellectual growth, of an ever-broadening 
activity. Three years later, seated at conference 
with the Board, to whom he was reading his 
customary address, his head fell back upon the 
chair, and with hardly more than a sigh death 
took him. 

To-day the great institution on the Hudson 
has grown from one to over a score of buildings. 
Its campus is one of the most beautiful to be 
found, and thousands study in its halls where 
there were hundreds in his day. It was Vassar 
that fought the good fight for a woman's right to 
the best there is of education and cultural de- 
velopment, preceding by ten years any other 
strong women's colleges here in America, and 
meeting the brunt of all the objections, fears and 
enemies to such a conception without waver- 
ing. 

'No wonder Vassar women are enthusiastic and 
loyal daughters of their Alma Mater. 

And now for the present day, and the picture 
as we saw it, with June on the brink, and the 
Vassar girls working harder than ever, not only 
at the curriculum, but on the famous farm that 
has always belonged to the college, though as a 
rule the girls have shown no overpowering interest 
in agriculture. But in this war year they were 
doing their bit behind the hoe with a glorious 



VASSAR 

enthusiasm and splendid results in the rows of 
growing vegetables. 

"Who will write 'The Girl with the Hoe'?" 
asked Sister, after we had seen them at work. 

Vassar is about two miles from Poughkeepsie, 
in which she shows her good sense, for though 
the city, with its parks and its old homes, ter- 
raced up from the river as it is, holds much of 
beauty, it is too busy and crowded a place to 
have given Vassar the wide sweep she enjoys 
back there on her own hills under her giant trees. 
A small community has grown up about her, 
which is part of the township of Poughkeepsie, 
though it is not incorporated. This village is 
known as Arlington. Its claims to consideration 
are use rather than beauty, but its unattractive- 
ness adds to the effect of Vassar upon the visitor, 
if that were needed. 

You go in through the Lodge entrance, a 
medieval looking gateway of two flanking tower- 
like buildings joined by a central portion over 
a triple arch. A clock is set in the middle, above 
a row of narrow windows. The effect is good. 
A low wall fences the college grounds from the 
rest of the world. 

By curves and under trees you reach the 
campus, which now has vastly overstepped the 
limits of the old grounds laid out by, it is 
said, Frederick Law 01m stead. Vassar is for- 



VASSAR 

tunate in her trees, which are fine and of many 
varieties. Pines flourish, firs make sohd walls, 
beeches and oaks and maples, many of them 
class trees, for the Sophomore Class plants a 
tree for its memorial, give each their form and 
colour to the picture. Then there are gardens; 
gardens of all sorts, formal and useful, spring 
and wild, each one a glory and a delight after 
its own fashion. Amid all this expanse of 
natural and cultivated verdure and colour, the 
buildings, finely spaced and conforming to a 
large extent to the Gothic type, stand nobly. To 
be sure, there are many other specimens of archi- 
tecture than the Gothic. There is the huge bulk 
of Main, which has been partly remodelled, and 
whose character is found in its practical fulfilment 
of the ends for which it was meant. There is 
the Students' Building, in the style of one of 
Virginia's pubhc Colonial halls. There is the 
Ohvia Josselyn Hall, with its wide spreading 
wings and severity of outline, and the New Eng- 
land Building, fashioned like some old Colonial 
structure in Massachusetts or Maine. 

But Taylor Hall, that gives a magnificent 
entrance to the campus through its perfectly 
proportioned archway, the Chapel with its fine 
cloisters and low Norman tower, the Library, 
perhaps most beautiful of Vassar's buildings, 
these make the college notable for Gothic addi- 




TJic lAhrary, Perhaps tlic Most Beautiful of 
Vassar's BuUdings 



VASSAR 

tions to our American possessions of that special 
form for which we can well be thankful. There 
are other portions of the college that take this 
same architectural shape, but these three are 
supreme. 

The flat campus, while about are plenty of hills 
and long slopes, is most effective. It gives dis- 
tance, it allows the arching trees to form long 
aisles, it harmonises the various portions of the 
college into one impressive whole. 

Main once held all Vassar. Now practically 
all the different departments have found each its 
own building, the professors have moved out to 
houses of their own, the great residence buildings 
make the new homes for the students. Here, 
however. Main still holds its own, for in her the 
Seniors live, and here they have their Parlour, 
that room that has become one of Vassar's chief 
traditions — and bids fair to become, too, an 
enormous expense to each incoming Senior Class. 
For it was considered that the latest come 
Seniors must express the particular character and 
temperament of their special class in a totally 
different way from those who had gone before. 
So new furniture, new rugs and hangings and 
fittings, must be put into the old room. Each 
class tried to outdo the one preceding, with the 
natural result that economy curled up and died, 
and it was becoming impossible to beat the game. 



VASSAR 

anyway. Thereupon reason stepped in and now 
the girls are gradually assembling certain per- 
manent pieces in the Parlour, and seeking sim- 
plicity rather than expensiveness in the more 
ephemeral of the decorations. 

It is close to Main and the older buildings, with 
the ivy creeping up the brick walls, that you find 
the largest of the Class trees. The Sophomore 
Tree exercises usually take the form of a lovely 
pageant, with dances and singing. Now it may 
be some Druid ceremony, with woven paces and 
with waving arms, or lightly dancing hamadryads 
that play some Grecian game. Or it may take 
the form of an old legend, or simply express some 
charming fancy born in an undergraduate brain. 
Raymond Hall, Strong Hall, these have their 
trees from older days. Now they are being set 
out along the newer campus and by buildings 
that have come into being since the new century 
entered — and Vassar has made great growth in 
the past ten years. The Chapel, the Gothic 
Library, the Chemical Laboratory, Students' 
Building, Taylor Hall, all these have been built 
since 1904, besides a great work of reconstruction 
in some of the older buildings. Vassar has never 
lost any of her original buildings. No fire has 
come to destroy the cradle in which she spent 
her youth. Here she is to-day, growing on and 
on, spreading into new halls and lecture rooms 



VASSAR 

and laboratories, yet keeping all she had. You 
can read the whole history of Vassar right on 
her campus. 

Even the grounds themselves have grown and 
changed with her development. Besides the little 
old lake there is the New Lake; and come, as 
we did, on a day in spring down the path to that 
lake, with its tall pines mingling their singing 
boughs far overhead, whispering of the water 
that begins to gleam between their trunks. 
Follow that exquisite path as it follows the curves 
of the lake shore. What a green and checkered 
way it is, and how the birds sing there ! 

Sister and I, who had been going the round 
of the buildings, joyfully followed a charming girl 
along this path, steeped with pine fragrance and 
bordered by lovely little wild flowers, purple and 
white and pink. 

" Do you use the lake much? " was our question. 
For it looked a place to live on, as we stopped 
to gaze across to the hillslope on the farther bank. 
Sunset Hill, or Sunset, as they call it, affection- 
ately. Pines fringed its brow, and on one side 
an orchard from which the blossoms had now 
gone climbed sturdily up, the trees leaning over 
to the task in the way the apple has. 

" We float about a lot in those safety first flat- 
bottomed boats, that are the best in the world to 
lounge in. And we canoe, too. Go way up the 

-H-321W- 



VASSAR 

brook, across a swamp, anywhere where a few 
inches of water will float the canoe. But it 
isn't big enough for racing." 

Vassar is a place for walks, even for hikes. 
They have their Mountain Day here too. Usually 
it falls about the middle of October, and away 
goes the whole college. Some make tramps of 
twenty miles, others are far more conservative, 
and two miles look good to them. But before 
any girl is through with her four years she is 
sure to appreciate outdoor life. You couldn't live 
in such an environment and not be attracted to the 
great outdoors. 

"We have a skating carnival in winter, lots 
of fun," went on our guide, stepping ahead of us 
in her green smock, that merged with the wood- 
land delightfully. " Build big bonfires all round 
the lake, hang up Jap. lanterns, toast chestnuts 
and marshmallows, and skate to beat the band. 
We ask our men friends to that, and it's a sight, 
with the shadows leaping and falling, and the 
woollen caps and sweaters, all colours, the black 
lake and sky, the trees, the white snow. Once 
in a while we get some coasting, though there are 
so many trees that we usually have more spills 
than clear racing. But fun ! " 

She had more to say about the lake, for it 
seems that if there is no skating a gloom falls 
upon the college, not alone because a charming 

-J-322-J- 



VASSAR 

sport is lost, but because it is a Vassar fact that 
more students fail at midyear examinations. So 
it is, let who can explain it. 

" Exams.," she continued, with a considerable 
twinkle in her eye, " are queer things. Now, it 
is a foregone conclusion that every Freshman has 
to fall down the entrance stairs of Main at least 
once. Should she escape this fate, she won't pass 
her exams. Out she goes. It is mysterious, but 
Vassar has her mysteries. There is a ghost in 
North Tower, you know. And the owl, of course, 
is our bird. You can see its interesting face on 
the spoons in Senior Parlour, and meet it round 
generally. Well, the wise bird knows it's our 
mascot, and there are always one or two living 
round the eaves of Main." 

We walked across to the outdoor theatre, under 
the trees on Sunset in a natural amphitheatre. 
Vassar's Dramatic Club gives plays here, and 
pageants are also held in its green lap. Vassar 
loves pageants and dancing. There is the Senior 
hoop and dance celebration of May Day. Each 
class varies the program, of course. But it is 
usually held at dusk of a fine May evening, the 
Seniors are in costume, the hoops trimmed to 
match, and the evolutions, measured and beauti- 
ful, with the colours of the dresses carefully 
planned and massed, make an unforgettable 
sight. Founder's Day is another occasion for 

-f-323-i- 



VASSAR 

festal events. Field Day is the time for the 
athletic contests on the Circle. Vassar was busy 
with athletics before such things were considered 
quite proper by the mammas of the period, and 
she has kept them up. Now there is the big new 
Gymnasium with its track and paraphernalia, there 
are tennis fields and golf, basket ball and base- 
ball. Vassar is agitating the question of inter- 
collegiate sports. 

" Why shouldn't the girls' colleges compete with 
each other as well as have the interclass contests ? " 
I wanted to be told. But the matter is still a 
moot one. There is the danger of making ath- 
letics too important, there is the expense, and it 
will be necessary to get the other women's colleges 
to agree, since it would hardly pay to have but 
two or three interested. 

The students all live in the Residence Halls, 
and have their various dining halls. Student 
Building has one, also Main, and there are others. 
The college is supplied with its own milk, having 
a beautiful herd of certified cows, on whose sleek 
forms we were permitted to gaze. The farm sup- 
plies fresh vegetables too. This has obtained from 
the first and works out well. It makes for a large 
number of employees, most of whom live in the 
village of Arlington. Vassar runs a club for these 
assistants, at least for the women, the Goodfellow- 
ship Club. There are no dues, and the college girls 

-i-324-e- 



VASSAR 

do a lot of work in connection with the classes 
held there, the dances and parties given. It is 
a sort of college settlement right inside the college 
walls, where girls interested in social betterment 
can come to grips with actual conditions. 

Vassar works hard for democracy within her 
gates. It is the proper thing to dress simply. 
No student is allowed to keep a horse or an 
automobile. All the rooms on the campus, be 
they good or be they less so, cost the same. You 
must depend on your luck and not on your pocket- 
book to secure the one you want. Another point 
making for democracy is that the Faculty share 
the houses on the campus to an unusual extent 
with the students. There is a most friendly and 
chummy relationship between many of the girls 
and their women professors. There have never 
been any fraternities; the unit is the class. A 
Student Association sees that the rules of the 
college are maintained. There used to be a great 
many, but now the modern idea prevails, and the 
girls are no longer treated like children. Chapel 
attendance is enforced by the Faculty, which 
also has the responsibility for social conduct 
beyond the campus, and for absences from college 
in its control. But most of the extra-collegiate 
matters are managed by the Seniors who form 
the Association. 

The day had grown warm, and we lingered at 
-+•325-^- 



VASSAR 

the Gymnasium to watch the swimming in the 
pool with envy. Every girl seemed to be an 
adept at diving and fancy strokes. How they 
loved it! Surely this life of the college girl is 
a full and an interesting one. It takes both body 
and mind and seeks to make them fit and fine. It 
is full of joyous celebrations, and there is plenty 
of serious work. Out again on the campus we 
were given an idea of the charm of Class Day, 
and of the singing on the steps of Rockefeller 
Hall. 

Every one has heard of the Daisy Chain. The 
march from Rockefeller to the Square before the 
Chapel, with the different classes in their fresh 
summer gowns, the famous chain in the midst, 
a chosen group from the Sophomore Class, clad 
in pure white, bearing the flowery rope on their 
young shoulders. On the night of Commence- 
ment Day the class supper is held, and the 
Seniors, so soon to scatter, sing around the tree 
they planted in their Sophomore year. There is 
a picnic supper on the Circle the evening of 
Class Day, there are dances and receptions. 

With each step you take about the campus 
you find some item worth notice. There is the 
inscription on the lamps leading to the Library: 
" Light Was Given Us to Discover Onward 
Things." There is the Conservatory, a spot of 
revelUng flowers and growing things. There is 

-i-326-?- 



VASSAR 

the Observatory, with its traditions of Miss Maria 
Mitchell's Dome parties, delight of her students. 

" And here they hold the Junior Masquerade 
in April, when all sorts of stunts and skits are 
the order of the hour. And the College Choir 
marches here to Chapel for the Commencement 
exercises. And here . . . and here ..." 

But enough. It would take much more than 
a chapter to tell about Vassar. There she is, 
among her glens and singing brooks, her splendid 
campus, her two lakes and her hills, busy, happy, 
filled with the spirit of the times. This year her 
students have been plunged in war relief work, 
in Red Cross work, in agricultural labour. They 
are thoroughly alive to the call of the times, and 
ready to give themselves freely. 

"If this business the reincarnationists tell us 
is true, I'm going to come back here for the sole 
purpose of being a college girl," declared Sister, 
as we motored away to take the departing train. 
" Choosing would be difficult, but you can go 
from college to college in each reincarnation, and 
get the fun — and of course the work — out of all." 

The work is the most important part to the 
college. But to the visitor it is the fun that 
makes the greater appeal. 



327 



CHAPTER XV 

West Point 

As we sped along the Hudson, south from Pough- 
keepsie, we were on familiar ground. More than 
once the boat races had brought us up here, when 
everything was a-flutter with flags and packed 
with holiday girls and boys and alumni. We 
decided, being now fairly wise on the subject of 
women's colleges, that the girls' crews ought to 
meet on that beautiful stream each year for a 
race and regatta of their own. 

"Why not? Wouldn't it be a fine sight to 
see those slim maids pulling against each other, 
with mothers and aunts proudly telling how they 
themselves had rowed stroke or number five or 
been coxswain of the crew of such and such a 
year, and brothers and fathers rooting with all 
their manly vigour? I think it will come some 
day, and I hope I can get up here to see it." So 
Sister. 

I put the thought down here, a free gift to the 
athletic societies of the women's colleges. 

West Point was almost like getting home to 
us. Many a wonderful night had we had at 
cadet hops in the years when such events spell 

-^328-^- 



WEST POINT 

the word heaven. Every inch of that historic 
ground not covered by buildings into which we 
were not allowed to go was known to us. The 
river there takes a noble course between the 
precipitous Highlands, that tower up to Storm 
King and Crowsnest on the West Point side, and 
the lovely hills of the opposite shore, where, at 
Garrison's, we left the train to take the ferry 
across. 

There had been much building on the Academy 
grounds since we had been frequent guests there. 
The Chapel, rising so superbly above the trees 
that climbed the abrupt slope from the river, had 
not been finished when last we visited there. The 
whole outline of the college as seen from the 
river was more impressive, more solid, far more 
what a great military school should be, than in 
the old days. Between 1902 and 1908 West Point 
had had something hke seven and a half millions 
spent on improving its equipment. The work 
had been needed, and it has been magnificently 
carried out. 

The road from the ferry landing that carries 
you up to the plateau where West Point stands, 
dominating the Hudson like some medieval town 
in an ancient print above a fabled river, is easier 
of grade than it used to be, and in tip-top condi- 
tion. Our jitney whisked us up with no more 
effort that it takes a ball to sail through the air. 

ri- 329 -i- 



WEST POINT 

" We could do with some more like that," was 
the comment of our driver, as we remarked on 
the perfection we had rolled over. 

There it lay, the green, flat stretch, some sixty 
acres, of the Parade Ground, looking unchanged, 
as it probably is. The elms ringed it as finely as 
of old, drooping their boughs in a vast fringe 
along its western edge, where the roadway bounds 
it, and where the homes of Ofiicers' Row stand 
orderly and attractive. 

The modern buildings have a fortress-hke look. 
Grey stone, with square towers and battlemented 
fa9ades, with long, narrow windows, the academic 
building stretches in a long line from one angle to 
the other, a truly colossal structure. There is 
nothing ephemeral in the present appearance of 
West Point. It is built for use and it is built to 
stay. There is something stern in the effect it gives, 
but this does not detract from its beauty. 

*' It looks the way it ought to look," said Sister, 
as we walked, matching our memories with what 
we now saw. And somehow, for all its changes, 
the old place gives you the same feeling. 

This is partly because the setting of the school 
is so wonderful, the outline of mountain, precipice, 
curving river, the farther views, the nearer splen- 
dour of forest are so unforgettable. It is these that 
have remained in your mind, not the precise look 
and placing of the buildings. 

-e- 330 -e- 



WEST POINT 

We crossed the Parade Ground, going north 
to the Battle Monument, with its Victory, work 
of MacMonnies, atop the graceful column. Be- 
yond that flying figure the blue reaches of the 
Hudson sweep grandly. Constitution Island, site 
of two old forts, and the property of the Point 
since 1908, lies in the river almost directly below. 
You seem to be looking on a sea of green boughs 
where you are not looking at the shining river. 
Surely never was there a greener stretch of country 
than that around West Point, or one more thickly 
wooded. 

"Mustn't miss Flirtation Walk," I reminded 
Sister. 

West Point is not so devoid of " quiet nooks " 
as Annapolis. The contours of its site cannot 
be so easily circumvented here as there by the 
machinations of landscape gardeners or official 
plans. Flirtation is a long, meandering path, 
barely wide enough for two, that hangs its en- 
chanted footway along the chffs of the river edge 
of the post for a considerable distance. There 
are times when any one not accompanied by a 
cadet would be an intruder here. But at present 
the students were all thoroughly occupied behind 
the grey walls of Academic Building. That is 
one thing about a military or a naval school. You 
can find every single cadet at any moment of the 
day, simply by looking at the clock. That is, of 

-J- 331 H- 



WEST POINT 

course, if you know the schedule. We had been 
famihar with it once, from reveille to taps. And 
now, since we saw no grey figures moving any- 
where, we knew that they must be at their study 
hours. 

The first class had already graduated, on ac- 
count of the war. The second was to graduate 
months and months before its time, but was still 
here, with the plebes and the third class or year- 
hngs. Presently the whole corps of cadets would 
be moving into summer camp. 

That camp is a sight every housekeeper in the 
world should see. Those immaculate company 
streets, the tents so perfectly aligned, all the 
living arrangements completely adjusted to the 
requirements, not a thread or a fold out of place 
or crooked. In the Army and the Navy, and in 
their two Academies that draw boys from every 
part of the land and from all conditions of life, 
neatness and order are raised to the height of fine 
arts. No lad who has spent his four years at 
either place is going to have a sloppy or an untidy 
cell in his entire makeup. 

During the summer the academic work is sus- 
pended, and the cadets attend entirely to the 
business of learning to live properly in camp, and 
to what they call field work, which means a 
good deal. Rain or shine, they are out in the 
open to a degree that makes it unanimous. 

-j-332-e- 



WEST POINT 

Marches, drills, riding and artillery practice, map 
making . . . 

But I won't change this into an itinerary of 
the myriad tasks that engage a West Point cadet 
even at what might be termed the slack time 
of year. It is usually soon after the graduation 
of the first class that the corps moves to its 
summer quarters. In a moment the tents are 
raised, the figures that seemed to be scurrying 
about aimlessly have finished changing a piece of 
ground into a little city, the band plays, every- 
thing is ship-shape and company by company the 
boys take possession. 

XWest Point, now moving with such smooth- 
ness, and destined to greater expansion, for which 
it stands ready and fit, had anything but a smooth 
beginning. It started and halted and almost 
quit, like a balky car. Washington had recom- 
mended the Point as a good place for the mili- 
tary school that had been proposed as far back 
as 1776, by Henry Knox. At that time a 
committee to draw plans for such a school was 
appointed by the Continental Congress. The 
year following a Corps of Invalids was organised 
in Philadelphia, and in 1781 this corps was trans- 
ferred to West Point, and was to serve "as a 
military school for young gentlemen previous to 
their appointment to marching regiments." To 
accommodate the corps of teachers and the young 

-*-333-<- 



WEST POINT 

gentlemen due to follow, three buildings had been 
erected, a Library and Engineers' School and a 
Laboratory. 

But Washington wanted something more like 
the idea contained in Knox's recommendation for 
an Academy, and in 1783 he took the matter up 
at Newburgh, to which he had removed his head- 
quarters. Nothing much happened, however. It 
was not till '94 that a school for artillery, 
engineers and cadets was established, and two 
years later the buildings burned down, ending 
that. 

Once more, in 1801, the attempt to get a start 
was made. In fact, it was all starts. In 1802 
there was another. President Jefferson approving 
an act to establish a military school at West Point, 
and on the Fourth of July of that year the 
Academy opened with ten cadets. Acts of this 
year and of 1808 authorised as many as a hundred 
and seventy-six cadets, but that was all there was 
to it. Nothing was done toward appointing them, 
and during the season of 1811-12 there was prac- 
tically no instruction at all. In March of the 
latter year there was not a single instructor at 
the school. So far, in all its years of life, if it 
could be called anything so energetic as life, 
eighty-eight cadets had been graduated. 

But one month later a change came. Congress 
got stirred to whatever corresponds to depths, re- 

-!-334-i- 



WEST POINT 

organised the Academy and developed general 
plans and principles that have endured to this 
time. As many as two hundred and fifty cadets 
were allowed, and a Superintendent appointed. 
This man was Major Sylvanus Thayer, an able 
and intelhgent officer, and under his administra- 
tion West Point found a real birth. 



The historical interest of the place dates back 
before it was a school, of course. Here were 
part of the important defences of the Hudson. 
Up on the hill behind the Academy was Fort 
Putnam, named for General Rufus Putnam, the 
great engineer, who planned the defences. Down 
close to the present landing was Battery Knox. 
At the sharpest projection of the point stood 
Fort Clinton, called Fort Arnold at that time. 

Old Fort Putnam, or its ruins, still remain, and 
the climb up Independence Mount is worth taking, 
not so much because the grass-covered remains of 
the earthworks tell you much, nor the shattered 
walls that are so covered with creepers, but be- 
cause of the view. An autumn day up there is a 
revelation of what the Hudson Highlands can do 
in the way of colour, and the view up and down 
the river extends for miles. Fort Clinton, nearer 
to the Academy, has before it a monument to 
Kosciusko, who was associated here with General 
Putnam, which was put up by the Corps of Cadets 
of 1828. It was these fortifications that Benedict 

-i-335-i- 



WEST POINT 

Arnold, then commanding them, had planned to 
deliver into the British hands. 

Sister and I climbed the hill to Fort Putnam 
for the remembered beauty of that panorama. 
Could it really be as lovely as we thought it 
had been? 

It is. 

You look up river to where the bulk of Crows- 
nest faces the noble headlands that there reach 
their greatest height on the opposite shore. The 
river narrows and darkens between them, with 
wonderful purple and emerald hues caught from 
their shaggy sides. Just a glimpse of farther 
stretches, silvery clear, and lower hills. The 
long, beautiful island, with its bold banks, splits 
the water just below the narrow gorge, and 
the opposite country here lowers and spreads 
to lovely rolhng hills, still thickly wooded, but 
showing a white spire or a roof, a cluster of 
buildings on the shore, the tracks of the New 
York Central and a crawling train. Right below 
the Parade, the buildings, the ordered beauty of 
the Post lies flat before you, beyond the massed 
trees that slope down to it, while southward the 
eye gathers other glorious reaches of green and 
blue. A steamer comes upstream, a saihng boat 
slips through the water. 

Around us hundreds of birds were flitting and 
singing, mad with the loveliness of the early June 

-f- 336 -*- 





''i 'r^ 









W^^ 






"The Chapel, West Point 



WEST POINT 

day. Budding laurel promised glory in a week 
or two. 

" We have been from river to river on this 
little trip of ours," Sister remarked. " There was 
the Rapidan, the James, the Androscoggin, the 
Connecticut. But after all, there's something 
about the Hudson ..." 

" That can't be beaten? You're right." 

We walked slowly back through the fragrant 
woods, for we had not yet really begun to see the 
new West Point. 

The Tudor or Collegiate Gothic is the archi- 
tectural style in which the great academic build- 
ings and the cadet barracks have been built. The 
Chapel strikes the note of pure beauty; in the 
working buildings the first consideration has of 
course been that of use, but beauty has never 
been lost sight of, and these fine piles, with their 
towers and their richly treated entrances, make a 
superb showing. There is just enough decoration 
— a piece of carving here, a turret, an arch, a 
vaulted passage, an arcade — to break the severity 
of the grey stone with its necessary repetitions 
of design. Clocks add a bit of variety, and the 
green boughs of the trees soften the whole ad- 
mirably. It is a beautifully planned thing, and 
the arrangement of the buildings is such that they 
can be ahnost indefinitely enlarged to meet in- 
creasing needs, should these arise. 



WEST POINT 

The most striking success is the adaptability 
of the style of the architecture chosen with the 
type of landscape into which it must fit. 

" The whole thing might almost have grown 
here of itself," was my decision, as we took the 
effect of the mass and extent of the buildings 
with the crags and sharp rises that surround them. 
" Nothing else would have done." 

In the past the officers' quarters south of the 
Mess Hall, on what I believe is called the Peru 
Road, used to be unsatisfactory and barren 
places. Now they are charming gabled homes of 
brick, sheltered by an excellently planned wall, 
and making, with their vines and under their 
shadowing trees, as pretty and delightful an im- 
pression as any young wife could wish for. We 
had visited a bride in one of those earlier houses, 
or half -houses, and had heard criticisms of army 
ideas of home architecture. These had been ex- 
cellently thorough, and you could almost imagine 
anything but the most hardened house simply 
crumbling under them. Well, they had crumbled. 

" And do you remember the first winter night 
we spent there?" Sister asked me. 

I did. About four in the morning we had 
been — you couldn't call it awakened, it was too 
violent, too tremendous, for that — we had been 
suddenly yanked from a deep slumber into a 
mad place where gigantic demons belaboured each 

-j-338-^- 



WEST POINT 

other with shrieks and howls, with wild whangs 
of metal on metal and terrific explosions. Clasp- 
ing each other as we shot into the air and 
trembling with emotion, we gasped; we couldn't 
even call for help, the thing was too awful. 

Somehow, piercing through the hideous clamour 
to where we sat and shook, our hostess' voice 
reached us from an adjoining room where she, too, 
must surely be suffering: 

" Don't mind it," she called. " They are just 
turning on the heat at the central plant, and it's 
the radiators." 

The sound of a bugle reached us as we turned 
back from this spot of many memories, and we 
stepped lively, in true New York fashion, for 
we knew it meant that the boys were marching 
to mess, and we wanted to see them. 

If any one on earth doubts what training can 
do, let him or her come to West Point and see it 
working. When the candidates arrive they are 
a motley crew of embarrassed youngsters of every 
shape and size and idea in clothes. They come 
from every part of the country and from pretty 
nearly every kind of a home, or no home, for 
occasionally some boy has been appointed from 
an orphan asylum. They look every which way, 
and they feel that way too. " Animals " was what 
the upperclassmen called them when we used to 
be visitors at the Point, and I daresay they call 



WEST POINT 

them that yet. I think the appellation lasts till 
they arrive at Plebe Camp, though maybe it 
drops away earlier. 

Look at those same boys only a year later. 

While they are in the Plebe state they are 
treated with a good deal of contempt by the 
superior classes. That is, they are not supposed 
to speak till spoken to, they cannot dance at 
the hops, they must hold themselves rigid, they 
must do certain chores, they must serve the dishes 
at table, — not as waiters, but as servers — they 
must walk a chalk hne. If they are out walking 
and meet an upperclassman, they salute him, but 
to address him would be unthinkable, and as for 
his speaking to them, except in the voice of com- 
mand, it isn't done, that's all. The year has been 
a hard one, and it has been solid work. But 
what it has accomplished is not less than marvel- 
lous. 

We stood on the sidewalk and watched the 
corps swing along in faultless alignment. The 
three lower classes were all that was left, since 
the First Class had gone. The Plebe Class had 
only been there since September. Yet look at 
them. Each young figure so disciplined, so sure 
of its movements, so rhythmical. Clear-eyed, 
clear-skinned, tanned, alive to their finger tips, 
company by company they marched, radiating 
health, vigour and control. 

-h 340 -i- 



WEST POINT 

" In the pink, as our English allies would say," 
murmured Sister. 

The rattle of commands as the officers swung 
the column and took it into the hall fell sharp 
and decisive. No hesitations, no mumbhngs, no 
waste movements. Grey line by line they van- 
ished, to take their places at the tables, each 
holding ten, each most attractive with linen and 
silver . . . and immediately to burst into lively 
talk and laughter, for there is no silence rule to 
make eating a glum business. They used to tell 
us that the Plebes were obliged to answer unerr- 
ingly just how many days it was to June when- 
ever the question was fired at them by an upper- 
classman, and that this was one of the topics 
at meals. If a Plebe miscalculated, why, the right 
number could easily be fixed in his memory by 
requiring him to eat it in prunes. 

" Many a Plebe forms a dislike to prunes that 
lasts through life," was the grave statement. And 
when we were further informed that as many as 
a hundred had been eaten by some luckless youth 
as a penalty we had not wondered. 

Mess Hall, or Grant Hall, to give it its right 
title, together with Headquarters Building, con- 
tains portraits of a number of distinguished 
soldiers. Memorial Hall has rehcs of wars and 
victories, of the heroic dead who had lived and 
died for America. Captured cannon, flags, in- 

•H- 34)1 -?- 



WEST POINT 

signia, West Point is full of reminders to its 
growing classes of what the men who preceded 
them here have done. An hour in Thayer Room 
in the Memorial Hall is worth more than many 
written pages. Spacious, silent, with its ring of 
immortal battle names making a glorious frieze 
beneath the beautiful ceiling. The supporting 
pilasters that mark the wall into segments, within 
which are precious bronzes, portraits and trophies, 
seem to stand like sentinels, guarding a treasure. 
At the end a painting of the Hudson opposite 
West Point, with the great headlands that confine 
it, hangs with the effect of a stage drop — a fitting 
set. Flags droop their folds on either side. 

Colonel Thayer, called the Father of West 
Point, has a granite statue to his honour in one 
corner of the Parade Ground, and a bronze statue 
has been raised to Major-General Sedgewick, of 
the U. S. Volunteers, killed at Spottsylvania wliile 
making a personal reconnaisance. 

West Point's Library is said to be the largest 
military hbrary in the world, so far as the collec- 
tion of books goes. The building has been tre- 
mendously improved from what it was, having 
been, so far as we could see, entirely recon- 
structed. It contains two interesting memorials 
by Saint Gaudens, in honour of two cadets who 
never graduated: James McNeil Whistler and 
Edgar Allan Poe. Neither of these two, appar- 



WEST POINT 

ently, had been raised to be a soldier, and their 
contact with West Point was brief. A drawing 
or two of Whistler's without any special merit 
is still owned by the Academy, but there seem to 
be no West Point poems by Poe. 

If we had had time we should have travelled 
again the lovely bit of road between the Point 
and the Cemetery, where lie Thayer, Winfield 
Scott, Anderson and many more. There is also 
a monument to the Cadets. But we could not 
leave the centre of interest. Riding drill was 
on on the drill grounds, with its clouds of dust 
following the heels of the horses. That is a sight 
of real adventure. Perhaps not so thrilling as 
the stunts done in Riding Hall, which we had 
watched with breathless interest many a time, 
especially when the Plebe Class took its Hfe in 
its hands and flew about the ring, on or off the 
horse, as luck had it. But out on the plain it 
was great riding. The West Point day is full of 
incidents. In the morning you hear the light, 
ringing reveille and soon the marching feet, and 
later there will be Guard Mount and special drills, 
sword and foil exercise, athletic work, the marches 
to and from mess and to and from recitation, and 
at last Dress Parade. Dress Parade, even in 
camp, in all the speckless pride of white trousers 
and short cadet jacket, before retreat. 

And what a sight it is. Sitting there under the 
ri- 343 -*- 



WEST POINT 

elms in the iron seats we watched it. Heard the 
music blare out as the classes formed on the 
south side, the approaching softness of sunset just 
tingeing the sky. There they came. First the 
band, then those inerrant ranks. The shadows 
are deepening a little, the green parade looks 
greener, beyond the view spreads far. Over our 
heads the elms swayed slightly, dreaming to the 
music. How often we had seen that gallant sight, 
but never at the edge of war. Here they come, 
led by their trig young officers, those who would 
so soon be in France, fighting in their turn that 
age-long fight for liberty which has always been 
America's fight since the day of her birth. 

There is the adjutant, his plume waving. The 
Commandant of the Academy is waiting, with his 
staff. The commands sound, the companies ad- 
vance, the sun touches the bayonets till they look 
like a river of silver. The colour company passes, 
the banners waving, and there are more orders, 
rhythmic yet sharp, and with matchless ease and 
precision the battalion comes to parade rest. 

Now the band marches across, down in front of 
the whole Mne, pauses, turns, and marches back, 
playing all the time. 

After that come the evolutions, the inspection, 
the march of the officers and salute to the Com- 
mandant. Picture on picture. We sat, looking, 
listening. It is one of the finest things in 



WEST POINT 

America, dress parade at West Point, and at 
this time, when war lay in waiting for those 
bright figures, it was ahnost too beautiful for 
endurance. As the band died to silence, as the 
drum rolled and the flag came fluttering at the 
same instant to the ground, to be caught and 
furled, while the corps stood at attention and 
such lookers-on as were there stood silent, my 
eyes were so full that the picture wavered and 
blurred. . . . 

And then the spell broke. Away marched band 
and cadets. The wives and friends of the officers 
began to talk and laugh. We, who were to motor 
down home with friends, made off to the waiting 
car and climbed aboard. The sun had gone, but 
the sky was rose and purple, and we left West 
Point behind us in a glory. 



345 



CHAPTER XVI 

Cornell 

I HAD always thought of New York as a state 
running north and south, and to find it just 
as enthusiastically going west was interesting. 
Its Western progress too proved full of variety. 
New York is fond of scenery, and experiments 
in pretty much all kinds, omitting deserts and 
snowpeaks alone. Sister and I found it more 
exciting to look out of the car window than to 
read the magazines with which we had fortified 
ourselves against the hours of travel before us. 
Ithaca is huge and very busy. Since firearms 
are part of the job it has on its manufacturing 
hands, it has been speeding up considerably dur- 
ing the last three years. With water power that 
comes shouting in from all the surrounding hills, 
wheels are turning madly day and night, and the 
streets are crowded with traffic. Even coming 
directly from the metropolis Ithaca gives you an 
impression of hustle and life. No quiet college 
town this, lost in the long, long thoughts of youth. 
But up on the heights above the business city 
there are charming residential sections. East Hill 
jthey caU that part, and Cornell and Cayuga 

r-^ 346 -i~ 



CORNELL 

Heights, or simply The Heights, which has a 
sort of Excelsior! sound, are the choicest portions. 
Wonderful views, a fine air, the music of running 
waters and plenty of elbow room for gardens give 
the Ithacan every reason for the enthusiasm he 
shows regarding his home town. 

Cornell, like the town to which it gives dis- 
tinction, is also very busy and very large. The 
largest of any American University except 
Columbia, co-educational, and carrying out with 
triumphant success the expressed desire of Ezra 
Cornell to found a place where everybody could 
learn anything. 

Cornell wanted to found a University that 
was absolutely unsectarian, and that should meet 
the demand for practical training and instruction 
as well as for study in the sciences and the 
humanities. He stood ready to give half a 
million dollars, two hundred acres of land and 
some other items for this purpose, on condition 
that the state would add the money to be derived 
from the sale of the Morrill lands, public lands in 
its possession granted to it in 1862 by the Morrill 
act, for the purpose of establishing a college 
where agriculture and the mechanic arts should 
be taught. 

In April, 1865, in spite of bitter opposition to 
Cornell's plan, especially from denominational 
schools and institutions, the University was incor- 



CORNELL 

porated. It is extraordinary to find how certainly 
opposition can be counted on in this world when 
there is a proposal to do anything thoroughly 
worth doing. There seems to be a permanent 
body of antis in existence, ready to flap and 
screech and warn and hamper at a moment's 
notice. One visualises them, bat-like in their dark 
haunts, happy and at peace until a new ray of 
the hated hght strikes upon them, and then they 
are up and whirling. 

And here, in spite of them, magnificent Cornell 
sat proud and fair on its hills, overlooking city 
and lake and rolhng country, welcoming thousands 
of young men and women yearly to its privileges, 
reaching out through its summer schools and its 
extension work to the remotest parts of the coun- 
try, working " from the ground up," teaching 
the farmer how to farm and the scientist how 
to use his trained faculties for definite accom- 
pMshment. For a University with so broad an 
aim, no more characteristic site could have been 
chosen than this. From the campus you see 
water and land and sky at their loveliest, and 
there appears no limit to the distance except that 
imposed by your own eyes. Close at hand are the 
wildest and most beautiful glens and canons, rush- 
ing streams and numberless falls, shadowed by 
pines and hemlocks and noble deciduous trees — 
nature untouched and splendid. There are also 

-J-348-*- 



CORNELL 

farms and factories and mills. And there is the 
ordered charm of lawn and garden, the richness of 
ivj^, the dignity of noble buildings. All that 
Cornell stands for surrounds her. 

There is so much of Cornell that it is difficult 
to get a complete impression of the University. 
You imagine that you have seen it all, and then 
another step opens up what looks like a whole 
new University to your astonished eyes. But 
there is a centre, the famous Stone Quadrangle, 
and there is a particularly charming way of 
reaching it, by Central Avenue. This was the 
mode of approach Sister and I chose. The 
Avenue is one of the college streets, running from 
town into the very heart of the campus, and is 
bordered by magnificent trees, elms and horse 
chestnuts. On one side is a paved pathway, on 
the other the ground, grassy and exquisitely cared 
for, slopes upward from the edge of the roadbed. 

These long slopes are characteristic, and give 
a beautiful effect. Everywhere the lawns seem 
to heave slightly, in curves so subtle that they 
produce a sense of rhythm. In some places 
the descent is sharper, such, for instance, as the 
ground where the men's dormitories stand. Here 
terraces have been necessary, the necessity in- 
ducing a particularly good result. Flights of 
steps lead up from house to house, the houses 
being architecturally fitted to this arrange- 



CORNELL 

ment in a delightful manner. The open court 
that lies between is dominated at the top by a 
beautiful, heavy square tower, that makes the 
transverse holding the long, descending wings 
together. The stone used for building has been 
taken from the neighbourhood, and as the colour- 
ing of this stone is warm and varied, the entire 
effect is one of welcome and gaiety that is most 
appealing. 

But Sister and I are still on Central Avenue, 
with the high tower of the Library soaring above 
the trees, an unmistakable guide to the campus. 
Just before attaining to it we passed Sage Chapel, 
a harmonious grouping of gables and sloping 
roof, with great oriel windows that let a glam- 
ourous light in upon an interior rich and sub- 
dued, with a vaulted ceiling full of colour and 
finely decorative. Here ministers from all denom- 
inations are free to preach the truth they accept, 
and here the students may come if they choose, 
or remain away unquestioned. Close to the 
Chapel is Barnes Hall, the building of the Chris- 
tian Association at Cornell, large, with a rounded 
end and a tower giving it a semi-ecclesiastical look. 
The fact that Cornell opens its doors to those 
who have no religious convictions does not pre- 
vent it from giving a hearty and a beautiful 
welcome to those who have. 

And now we walked on, between the Library 
-3-350-+- 



CORNELL 

and Boardman Hall and gazed down the length 
of the campus. 

What a scene of activity and yet of peace it 
was. The long stretch of lawns, so beautifully 
shaded by elms, with drinking fountains in grace- 
ful stone bowls, with decorative seats of white 
marble, with crossing paths on which young men 
and maidens passed, going from college to college ; 
the stone buildings, richly hung with vines, the 
breadth and airiness, the impression of being on 
a height — the moment was a fine one. 

Clear across, occupying the entire north end, 
was Sibley College, the mechanical engineering 
and mechanic arts building. With its heavy, 
square central portion, its broad wings and low 
dome this college is a perfect terminal to the 
long vista. 

Sitting on the steps of Boardman Hall, we 
surveyed the prospect in sequestered ease, except 
when prospective young lawyers, on their way 
to and from classes, ran up and down these same 
steps. Boardman Hall is very thoroughly covered 
with ivy and makes a handsome background. In 
line with it to the east, but off the University 
campus, as the one enclosed by the stone quad- 
rangle is called, is Stimson Hall, the medical 
school. Only the first year m^n study here, the 
course being finished in New York City, at the 
college there owned by the University. 

-e-351-i- 



CORNELL 

The eastern frontage to the campus is supphed 
by Goldwin Smith Hall, with broad wings ex- 
tending from a Doric centre, whose huge columns, 
sun and shadow flecked, were beautiful to look 
upon. Here the humanities are taught; history, 
the arts and the hberal sciences. Up and down 
its wide steps went men and girls, eager after 
beauty and truth. Never, it seemed to us, had 
we seen so much life on a campus before. Perfect 
streams of young people moved within our line 
of vision, going in groups and squads. Many of 
the men were in khaki. Cornell has long main- 
tained a military organisation, it has officers of 
the regular army for instructors, and practically 
the entire Freshman class of men go into the 
regiment as the best way of fulfilhng the required 
athletic and hygienic requirements of that year. 
The effect upon their carriage and good health 
is marked; they are a lively, snappy set, and 
after continuing the work for several months they 
have learnt much of the technique of mihtary 
life and the science of war. Of course, in a 
year like this, the military course was crowded. 
The uniforms gave the campus scene an added 
touch of romance and colour. 

"What a place!" exclaimed Sister. "Just 
sitting here and looking on is a liberal education. 
I suppose every state in the Union is repre- 
sented among those boys and girls. How im- 

-j-352-?- 




■ ' T^-'^ 



1>K 



Tlw Great lAhrary tcit/i its Z^pspringing Toiccr 



CORNELL 

mensely alive they all seem, and what a lot of 
enthusiasm they express simply by their way of 
walking, of talking in such interested groups, 
of dashing away suddenly toward one of the en- 
trances. And see them disappearing down those 
paths leading east. There must be a lot more 
to study over there." 

There was. In that direction lay most of the 
technical and agricultural buildings, the farms 
and poultry houses and dairies. Southeast was 
the great Athletic Field, the Armory and the 
Gymnasium. But of these later. 

Finishing the eastern side of the quadrangle is 
Lincoln Building, the home of the civil engineer- 
ing work of the University, a place of many 
gables and much ivy. Between the buildings 
show fascinating hints of the scenery, and from 
their upper, outward looking windows the view 
of the surroundings is superb. 

The west side of the quad are White Hall, 
College of Architecture, McGraw Hall, Geology 
and Zoology, with Morrill Hall, which holds the 
administrative offices on the ground floor, and 
the Psychological Laboratory on the upper floor. 
In the corner, between Boardman and Morrill, is 
the great Library with its upspringing tower, 
sharply pointed. The light grey stone of which 
it is built, much hidden by ivy^ is beautifully 
adapted to the irregular charm of the construc- 

-?-353-i- 



CORNELL 

tion, and the building completes a particularly 
harmonious and yet sufficiently varied frame to 
the fine campus. The Library has an endowment 
of a million and a great collection of books in 
the general library, besides many special col- 
lections. As was explained to us at Yale, a 
University Library has many needs to meet, 
amid which those of the undergraduates are but 
a small part. Cornell is magnificently supplied 
to meet such needs, and is constantly adding 
to her possessions. 

Here then was the entire group that goes to 
make the Stone Quadrangle, but the difficulty of 
conveying an impression of that sun-swept and 
tree-shaded and palace-sided oblong as we two, 
sitting there and looking, caught it, is beyond 
me. Again and again, to us, was emphasised 
the abounding feehng of vitality that is Cornell. 
The very colour of the stones carries this sense 
of life. The faraway shine of the lake, beautiful 
Cayuga, stretching north, flashes the same mes- 
sage, the smell of the pines, the lush elms, the 
clear, high notes of many birds, and always and 
ever that stream of ardent young life pouring in 
and out, traversing the lawns, meeting and pass- 
ing on the paths. 

" Come along," said a girl student, who was 
going to show us more. " There are the gorges, 
you know. North and South. We have a series 



CORNELL 

of the loveliest falls in the country, some as many 
as nine miles away, some . . ." 

She halted us on top of Ithaca Falls and let us 
see for ourselves. They are the largest in Falls 
Creek, directly north of the campus. Their music 
sounds above the soft murmur of the University 
hfe in a continuous chant as they tumble in white 
glory down the rocks. A woodland path, arched 
over by evergreens, lets you walk along the glen, 
climbing through a forest of noble trees, with 
that wild little river rushing beside it, and plung- 
ing down between its stone precipices in one fall 
or cataract after another. We followed it to the 
lake made by damming its headlong career where 
the Hydraulic Laboratory hums and whirls, a 
building that almost makes a canon wall itself, 
as it steps down from level to level. Lake Beebe 
is a charming httle sheet of water, quite uncon- 
scious of being artificial. 

The whole country round about Ithaca is a 
treasure of glens where the hemlocks keep the 
sun away from the dark pools and flashing falls 
of Falls Creek and Cascadilla Creek, which runs 
to the south of the University, and is as beautiful, 
if not quite as large, as Falls. These two streams 
have cut very deep gorges of a singularly pic- 
turesque type. Bridges span them with high 
arches, some of stone, some of wood, and Falls 
Creek is crossed high in air by the electric cars. 

-e- 355 -!- 



CORNELL 

We stared up to see a car race along the dizzy 
bridge that carries it and decided to take that car 
in a spare moment, between other sight-seeing 
engagements. 

Forest Home Path and Godwin Smith Path, 
or Walk, were shown to us in a sort of hushed 
rapture by our young guide. 

" Did you ever see a college that had such a 
campus as this? — for all this is a part of our 
campus. Waterfalls people come to see from all 
over the country, just chucked in with the tuition 
fees," she laughed. 

" I've heard about Cornell all my life," I said, 
" but it has always been the working side of the 
place, the wonderful agricultural work done here, 
the letters sent out to housewives and farmers, 
the fact that the Cornell Crew had won again — 
I've seen it at that deadly work on the Hudson. 
But of all this green enchantment, these dancing 
waters and deep glens, the exquisiteness of the 
lake, the splendid bits of forest — never a word." 

" Winter here is simply wonderful," the girl 
responded, and her eyes fairly shone. " You 
ought to see this glen after the first fall of snow, 
with every branch loaded with it, and icicles shining 
everywhere, and the water still calling and plung- 
ing. It is a real fairyland. And then the lake. 
They build a great toboggan slide, you know, 
and from that you fly far out on the ice — whisshh! 

-J- 356-+- 



CORNELL 

Talk about fun. In spite of our being in a big 
city like Ithaca, it's the most outdoor place, 
Cornell." 

On our way to see the Agricultural Buildings, 
a fine, businesslike appearing collection, hand- 
somely conceived, we stopped to admire the beauty 
of Bailey Hall, the new auditorium, named in 
honour of Liberty Hyde Bailey, who for fifteen 
years was a professor at Cornell, and for ten years 
Dean, and unusual in many ways, particularly 
in the way of genius. The building is encircled 
by slender pillars, with a low, graceful dome, 
almost circular in its form, and seats a very large 
number. It is proper that it should lie on the 
way to the Agricultural College, since that was 
Professor Bailey's field of work. He still lives 
in a little house under the very eaves of the 
great heights on which the University stands, 
with a greenhouse adjoining his workshop. 

" Presently he will be going to his summer 
home, on Lake Cayuga," we were told. The 
University has many tales to tell of its late Dean. 
Tall, thin, true countryman, with a countryman's 
speech and manner, he is at home in any environ- 
ment and with any human creature. He has 
lived all over the world, not in its cities so 
much as in its wild places, where plants grew 
for the seeking. His additions to knowledge 
have been important, his manner of imparting 



CORNELL 

what he knows distinguished by an entire lack 
of affectation, considerable humour and the finest 
simplicity. The best that is meant by the spirit 
of Cornell may be said to find its expression in 
him. He is now working on his Standard Cyclo- 
pedia of Horticulture, but he has not lost touch 
with Cornell nor ceased to be a vital portion of 
the University. 

We had kept chickens ourselves, so that in the 
great agricultural group we were more attracted 
to the Poultry House than to any other item. 
Here are things as they should be. Here all 
sorts of experiments are tried, and the chickens, 
from earliest cluck to the last squawk, are made 
to walk a chalk line. The plant is a delight, 
and we could hardly drag ourselves away. 

It was in my early teens that I had developed 
the mania for raising hens which lasted some years 
and had its measure of success. I remember once 
stating solemnly and with conviction that my life 
would always be completely happy if only I were 
allowed to keep chickens. 

" If I can keep chickens, even a few, I shan't 
care," was my conclusion. 

We wanted to see some of the military work, 
so there we went now, as it was an hour when 
something might be expected. On the way we 
took a look at the Stadium on Alumni Field, a 
huge flight of seats, tier on tier, and at the base- 

H-358 4- 



J 



CORNELL 

ball cage and field house to the south. Then 
we stopped, in view of the campus before the 
Armory. The men were at work, and the sight 
was inspiring. 

" Khaki and green make a pleasing combina- 
tion," Sister said, as the three of us stood watch- 
ing the charging, the marching, the turns and 
abrupt pauses of the military instruction in 
progress. "What a lot of them there are!" 

And how easily they went through the 
work. It was nothing new here, and the boys 
showed it. 

We both decided that what we had seen of 
military training in the lay colleges was a wonder- 
ful argument for military training as a part of 
the life of every boy. It certainly did not make 
for the mihtaristic spirit. There was nothing of 
that shown, and very few of the boys in normal 
times entered the regular army. But in every 
physical sign and in a poise that was unmistak- 
able, it gave a definite result and a praiseworthy 
one. 

As we looked on, watching the young officers 
take their companies through the proper evolu- 
tions, we turned to the young girl beside us and 
told her that war or no war, and certainly it was 
to be hoped that never again in the future was 
there to be a war, we were for universal training. 

" My brother says he wouldn't have missed it 
-e-359H- 



CORNELL 

for anything," she told us. " And when he came 
here he rebelled against it at first. But prac- 
tically all the Freshmen take it, and you have to 
have a pretty good reason to be excused from it. 
So he joined the rest, and before long, when he 
saw what it did for the boys, he was strong 
for it." 

" Is he there now? " 

But he had graduated the year before. And 
when we wanted to know whether it was cus- 
tomary for brothers and sisters to attend the 
University together she said it did seem to be. 
But the boys and the girls were apt to centre 
on different studies, and there was so much to 
do, each in his or her own sphere, that as hkely 
as not they saw very little of each other. 

" But let me show you Sage College, the first 
Woman's Dorm," and away she went, winding 
us back behind Boardman and past the Chapel. 
Sage is a building of too many sharp, thin towers 
and the terrible word ornate might be apphed to 
it with justice, but it is large and comfortable, 
the rooms are delightful, the green boughs of 
the trees embrace it and the creepers adorn it 
lovingly. 

Not far away is South Gorge, with a finely 
arched bridge spanning the falls of Cascadilla 
Creek, that comes down a series of natural stone 
steps in a welter of foam. The evergreens are 

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CORNELL 

close-set here, and a sweet wind blew down the 
gorge, carrying the voice of the waters on its 
cool wings. Cascadilla Hall too is near here, 
another dormitory. 

Many of the students sleep and live in the 
fraternity houses, for Cornell supports the fra- 
ternities with entire enthusiasm. Apparently each 
college without them is filled with self-congratu- 
lation to think of its happy fate in this respect, 
and precisely the same appears to be true of each 
college with them. The puzzle of the frats. — it 
might make a good detective story, but it would 
have to end with two solutions. 

" Do you approve of fraternities in college 
life?" might be asked of American institutions 
of learning. 

" Yes— and No." 

The answer covers the whole ground. 

Cornell has many other societies and clubs. A 
great deal of its life is subdivided off, college 
by college. Many students come for definite 
courses in one special college. Many come only 
for the summer school, but among the summer 
students are plenty of others who are shortening 
their necessary time at the University by carry- 
ing on work during the extra season, or by 
taking up an entirely different branch. The 
athletic work brings a great many into close rela- 
tions, and Cornell is famous for its prowess on 



CORNELL 

the field and on the water. There are various 
student associations, each numbering many mem- 
bers. Both the men and the girls have their 
meeting rooms, their special interests. There 
are several student publications. 

" It is a complex, crowded life here," said 
our guide, as we drifted back to the University 
campus, and once again gazed at the charming 
scene and the beckoning view. Up beyond Beebe 
Lake we could see the domes of the Fuertes 
Observatory, like bubbles amid the greenery, and 
now we knew that the thick dark line of ever- 
greens that was traceable beyond the campus 
boundary marked the wild course of Falls Creek. 
The better you know Cornell the better you 
realise how beautiful it is. Complex and crowded 
the life may be. But it is surrounded by im- 
mensities of peace and loveliness. 

" Yes, it is crowded and it is full of varying 
interests," said the pretty young creature, who 
looked so fit and ready in blouse and short skirt, 
with a sweater as golden as her hair. " Natu- 
rally it can't help being a good deal spht up; 
but that is so everywhere. Some of the students 
go to the city a great deal, some of us hardly 
ever. Of course Lake Cayuga is a rallying place 
both in summer and in winter, and so is Alumni 
Field and so, more than all, is the Library. Then 
there are special celebrations of the different 

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CORNELL 

classes, and the mad excitements of Commence- 
ment. It's a huge, intensely interesting, colom'ful 
kaleidoscope. As the pattern turns and changes, 
you pick out of it what appeals to you, and 
go for that. Sometimes you make a mistake, but 
there is plenty of time to make a fresh start, to 
find yourself here. It's wonderful!" 

Much of Cornell's prosperity has come from the 
sale of western lands, located by Ezra Cornell 
and handed over to the University whose welfare 
he had so much at heart. For a number of years 
there were troublous times, and money seemed 
impossible to get. Whenever things grew too 
strenuous Mr. Cornell would dig in again, and 
pay off salaries or debts and set the wheels 
rolling once more. During those first struggling 
fifteen years famous men lectured at the Uni- 
versity, for it is part of the Cornell plan to 
have lectures each year by non-resident professors 
and men of attainments. Lowell, George W. 
Curtis, Theodore Dwight, Goldwin Smith, Bayard 
Taylor and Louis Agassiz, were among those early 
lecturers. There are few men of mark of late 
years who have not spoken before the under- 
graduates. 

We left the grounds with a copy of The 
Cornell Widow under one arm, and of the 
Cornell Magazine under the other. The one is 
serious, the other is not. They express some- 

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CORNELL 

thing of Cornell, between them. But only a 
little. 

The University has far outrun Ezra Cornell's 
ambition to " found an institution where any 
person can find instruction in any study," noble 
as that ambition was. Much more than instruc- 
tion is found there. 

As Sister put it: 

" I don't see but that, by and large, Cornell 
doesn't pretty well express the whole of this 
country of ours, male and female, rich and poor, 
in most of its countless activities and interests. A 
great democratic University, wonderfully beauti- 
ful, magnificently situated, thoroughly alive. It's 
tremendous ! " 

THE END 



364 



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